


Meet Me at Twilight

by immortalitylost



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Funny humor, I promise, M/M, Rewrite, and revamp (haha) the everloving shit out of it, but make it gay, fortified with profound conversation, no lie, now with bonus sexual tension, peppered with even more angst, with added humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 143,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26024947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immortalitylost/pseuds/immortalitylost
Summary: If Stephanie Meyer can do it, so can I.Just an edit I did for myself. Thought others might enjoy.Revisit the world of Forks through the eyes of Beauregard Swan, Beau for short, who is more than just your average find and replace gender swap of a character. This boy has personality for days. Some would say too much. Watch as he meets some old faces and some new and interacts with them in fun and interesting ways, all the while begrudgingly falling for our favorite misanthropic brooding vampire enthralled by the charms of a high schooler. ...No, not Angel. The other one.Marvel at the sexual frustration. Gasp at the sudden yet inevitable betrayal. This way to the egress!
Relationships: Edward Cullen/Original Swan Character(s)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 68





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> Updates Monday through Friday, barring the unexpected. Like, if zombies attack, expect slight delays.

I’d never allowed myself to give much thought to dying; though the last few months had definitely tested my resolve on that point.

Even if I had, I wouldn’t have imagined this death.

I stared across the long room and into the dark eyes of the hunter. He stared right back at me, tracking his prey.

At least it was a good way to die—in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. Sure. And that ought to have counted for something. It really ought to have….

I knew that if I’d never gone to Forks, I wouldn’t be in this predicament now. But though I was terrified, I didn’t regret my choices. After all, when life offers up an adventure, there's an unspoken agreement. You reach out, or you stay your hand. Either way, you live with the price.

The price of adventure is its end, as far as I can see.

It's pointless to cry over the thought of that end, of course—useless to worry over it. All journeys come to an end. Even mine.

The hunter smiled, almost friendly, as he strolled forward to end me.

Time to pay what I owed.


	2. First Sight

My mom drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite T-shirt of the moment. I honestly couldn’t tell you what witty piece of social commentary adorned that particular shirt or what color it was, but that didn’t matter. The point was that I was wearing my favorite T-shirt of the moment as a farewell gesture. To T-shirts as a species.

My carry-on item was a parka.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this insignificant town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its depressing gloom that my mom escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this tiny town that I’d been forced to spend a month every summer till I was fourteen—that was the year I finally started making ultimatums. And I’d gotten what I wanted. These past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

It was to Forks that I now exiled myself—an action that I took for my mom’s sake, at great personal expense. I detested Forks. I loved Phoenix. Loved the sun and the blistering heat, loved the vigorous, sprawling city. Loved the anonymity of the crowd, even. But I’d resigned myself to the loss of all of that, for her.

"Beau," she said—the last of a thousand times—before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mom looks like me. She always says it that way, that she looks like me, like I’d come first and not the other way around. With her short hair and long, skinny limbs, she could be my twin. Only her laugh lines and her tan, her lighter eyes and the more feminine curve of her features give her away.

My mom. God, I was going to miss her. 

I felt a spasm of panic as I stared into her eyes; wide eyes that looked so much more childlike on her than mine ever had in the mirror. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mom to fend for herself? Of course, she had Phil now, which calmed me a bit. The bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone for her to call when she got lost, but still....

I remembered that I was doing this, making this sacrifice, for her happiness, and so I metaphorically squared my shoulders.

“I want to go.”

It was a lie. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been repeating this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing this time.

"Tell Charlie I said hi, okay?"

"Of course."

"I'll see you soon," she insisted.

“Not if I see you first, kid,” I said, throwing her a wink. It got the laugh I’d been trying for, but her face shifted into seriousness again too quickly, a little line of worry forming between her dark brows.

"You can come home whenever you want,” she reminded me. “I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise, and there was no way that I’d ever allow it to come to that.

"Don't worry about me," I said. "It'll be great.” I picked up her hand, smaller than my hand, worn with use, and kissed its back, making my smile warm for her after I released its soft skin from my grip. I needed to convince her to stop worrying. For my sanity. “I love you, Mom."

She hugged me tightly for a minute and then I was on the plane. Then she was gone. I was gone—self-exiled. We were separated. I was trying not to worry about that.

It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, with another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying has never bothered me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, _that_ I was freaking out about. Just a smidge.

Charlie had really been pretty good about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely excited—or what passed for excited with him—that I was coming to live with him for any length of time, and he'd already gotten me registered for high school. He’d even offered to help me find a car. He was a great guy.

I was lucky.

But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie, too. It was an inevitability. Neither of us were exactly talkers and I honestly didn't know what there was to say between us now. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision—like my mother before me, I hadn't ever made a secret of my distaste for everything that was Forks.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen—just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.

Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. While Charlie is Charlie to me, to the good people of Forks he’s Police Chief Swan. It goes without saying that my primary motivation behind buying myself a car like, yesterday, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I couldn’t exactly drive the cruiser to the store to pick up milk and I refused to be driven around everywhere, especially in a car with red and blue lights on top. New kid new school was enough to deal with, thanks.

I finally stumbled off the plane, sadly quite literally, and into Charlie’s stiff, one-armed hug.

“It’s good to see you, kid,” he said, smiling, automatically steadying me before I could faceplant. We patted each other’s shoulders, awkward and embarrassed, and then stepped back. “You haven’t changed much. How’s Renée?”

"Mom's fine.” Oh god, already uncomfortable. “Wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t, you know? Good to see you, too." I wasn't allowed to call him Charlie to his face. I was working up to Dad. It still felt weird when I tried to use it and I’d had a long day.

I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too…let’s say permeable, for lack of a better word, to be much use in Washington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe but it was still a bit on the anemic side. I’ve mentioned my fondness for T-shirts. They aren’t as universal as one would think if they’re all that your wardrobe consists of. Everything usable that I owned fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," Charlie announced once we were _both_ strapped in. There was a pointed look involved to get us to the _both_ part. Cops.

"What kind of car?" I asked, feeling awkward; feeling like I should have asked permission when I reached to turn up the heat, then feeling awkward for feeling awkward with my own dad. I was also feeling suspicious of the way he said "good car for you" as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Okay, my interest is piqued.” My hands were warming slowly under the vents ministrations and I felt slightly better about the entire situation. “Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" 

La Push, I remembered, was the tiny Indian reservation on the coast near Forks, but the name Billy Black wasn’t ringing any bells.

"Ummm, No?"

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted.

Which explained why I didn't remember him. I do a remarkably good job of blocking painful things from my memory. Though I did know from one remembered experience that fishing hooks should never be introduced into my general viscidity for fear of terrible and painful things occuring.

"He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."

Though I wondered if Charlie’s friend’s accident was recent and if it was somehow socially required of me to ask after the health of someone that I couldn’t even remember enough to picture, I decided to focus on the matter at hand. Charlie wasn’t big on social niceties.

"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was a question he was hoping I wouldn't ask. Insert evil laugh here.

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine—it's only a few years old, really."

Okay. Well played. But not well enough.

"When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

I gave him a look that was wasted on him as his eyes never left the road and continued in a deadpan voice, "uh-huh. And did he buy it new in 1984?"

"Well, no.” Charlie shifted uncomfortably. “I think it was new in the early sixties—late fifties at the earliest," he said, putting more excitement behind his words than was necessary, still trying his best to sell the thing. “It’s vintage.”

"Ch—Da—I mean, listen, it sounds like a great truck from what you say. But I seriously, really, don’t know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if it went, I don’t know, wrong, and I can't see myself being able to afford a mechanic in the foreseeable future so—"

"Really, Beau, the thing runs great,” Charlie said. “They don't build them like that anymore."

There had to be a reason that Charlie was so invested in the thing. I stopped an exasperated breath escaping that might have been construed as a sigh and mulled. The Thing, I thought to myself, had possibilities—as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on.

"Well, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free. "You didn't need to do that.” I was both moved by his gesture and uncomfortable with accepting it, in equal measures. “I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud, and I guess I’d inherited that from him, because I was also pretending to watch the road furl out ahead when I responded.

"That's really nice, Dad. Seriously, thanks. I really appreciate it." And all of a sudden, I could say it. The dreaded word that began with D and had always tripped on my tongue before it could make its way out of my mouth. In that moment, at least, he’d stopped being Charlie in my mind. No need to add that my being happy in Forks was an impossibility. He didn't need to suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth—or...engine.

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, clearly embarrassed by my thanks. He can’t have missed what I’d called him either, I realized. But I also realized that he wouldn’t even begin to know what to say about it. His small smile made it seem like I’d done the right thing twice over, though.

It felt nice.

We were quiet for most of the rest of the drive, exchanging a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and not venturing into much else. We mostly stared out the windows in silence. Silence was good. We were both good at it.

The view was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves, somehow.

But it was _too_ green—seemed like an alien planet.

Eventually we made it to what I still couldn’t think of as home. The house. Charlie still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage, which were the only kind of days their marriage had. There, parked on the street in front of the house that had never changed, was my new—well, new to me—truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. And it was completely and irrefutably awesome. I didn't know if it would run, but I could definitely see myself in it. It had a certain brand of time-battered personality that I respected. Plus, it was one of those solid iron monstrosities that never gets damaged—the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car that it had just destroyed.

If you couldn’t tell, I liked it.

"Wow, Dad, it’s so much cooler than I expected! Thanks!" Charlie looked like he hoped that was a good thing and I laughed for the first time since I’d boarded the plane to come here. I rewrote tomorrow in my head, my first horrific day at a new horrific school, making it just an inch or two less, just, horrifying. At least I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser. And let’s face it, the rain had been my only real option there.

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again. I was getting pretty good at embarrassing him, apparently.

It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had belonged to me since I was born. The dark wooden floor was strange, yet recognized; the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed sheer curtains around the window—these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were to switch the crib for a bed and to add a desk as I grew. The same desk now held a secondhand computer, the phone line for the modem stapled neatly along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation that Mom had made, so that she wouldn’t feel so disconnected. So that neither of us would. The rocking chair she’d no doubt used to comfort me as an infant was still haunting the corner. I felt a bit like I was invading a museum.

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie, but I’d long ago resigned myself. I’d had to share with mom before, after all, and that was definitely worse. She had _things_ ; many many things, some of them unspeakable, and she doggedly resisted all of my attempts to organize them or hide them from sight.

One of the best things about Charlie was that he didn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for Mom. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and fake being happy; a relief to be able to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain when I pleased, almost reveling in my misery. I wasn't in the mood to face the new life I’d sentenced myself to. I’d save that for bedtime, when I’d no doubt be forced to think about the coming morning whether I wanted to or not.

Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven—now fifty-eight—students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together—their grandparents had been toddlers together and all that.

I would be the new kid from the big city, a curiosity, a freak. And these Forks kids were bound to be disappointed with me after whatever big-city expectations they had dreamed up. Maybe if I looked like a guy from Phoenix should, I could work this interest to my advantage, but physically, I'd never fit in anywhere. I should by all rights be tan, definitely that, and athletic, and blond maybe—possibly a football player, or homecoming king material, or an interesting rebel. Maybe some ultra-cool mixture of all those things—all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun.

Instead they’d get this.

Instead, I was milk-skinned despite the constant sunshine, and the large eyes I’d inherited from my mother were my father’s brown and not her blue; didn’t reflect the clear sky hers always seemed to. I had always been lean, but was a bit too soft and when I moved it was obvious that I wasn’t an athlete. I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself and harming both myself and anyone who stood too close.

I was always an outcast. Always the kid who got shoved into lockers till a growth spurt shot me up a painful six inches sophomore year and packed a bit of muscle onto me. I would have preferred the lockers.

I’d been the kid who was too quiet and too serious, too strange; who didn’t know anything about gaming or cars or sports statistics or anything else I was supposed to be into. I had made peace with it, but I doubted that the kids of forks high would be as accepting as I was.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, which, from the smell, had been recently stripped of the baby blue paint from my childhood and re-varnished for me, I took a shower that was really more of an excuse to stall. I dreaded going to bed.

Looking at my face in the mirror, I ran my hands perfunctorily through my mussed, damp hair. I was sallow in the green fluorescent light of the bathroom. I looked like I was sick. With my pale skin I _could_ look good—human at least—in the right light, but this light was not that. Here, I looked like a B-movie zombie extra.

I groaned. Forks could blow me. I plopped down on my bed, mussing the carefully tucked sheets like the anarchist I was.

The worst part of it all was that it wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. I was a freak on the inside, too. I knew that. And if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances here? I didn't relate well to people my age. Or people, period, really. Even my mother, my twin, was never really on the same page with me, like we existed on different wavelengths or something. Different universes superimposed. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. There was probably a glitch in my brain.

Didn't matter, though, really. None of it. Even if I’d been born with a normal brain, I’d never have had time to learn to be cool. Even learning to be normal wasn’t in my time budget. I didn’t have time to pick up any of the stupid hobbies kids found so popular. Allowed myself the occasional movie as an indulgence. Read books in odd moments. I didn’t have time for much else. I always had a checkbook to balance, a clogged drain to snake, a week’s worth of groceries to shop for. You know, important things. Things that needed to get done.

Or, at least, I used to.

Now, I felt oddly purposeless.

At least wallowing in my past sorrows helped to take my mind off of tomorrow’s school day.

I didn’t sleep well that night, even after I finally got my head to shut up. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn’t fade into the background. I pulled the old quilt over my head and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn’t fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quiet drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning and I could feel claustrophobia stalking up behind me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.

Breakfast with Charlie was apparently—happily— a quiet affair. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing what a wasted wish that was. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that had apparently become his wife and family in our absence—so I also had awkward guilt, which was a nice addition to the emotional turmoil of the morning.

After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of three unmatched chairs surrounding it and examined his small kitchen cynically, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. The word timeless usually has a pleasant connotation, but, technically, it would still fit here—embarrassed to be used. Mom had painted the cabinets yellow eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house and now the happy color seemed to mock me. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining, handkerchief-sized, family room, was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and Mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born—taken by a helpful nurse, one assumed. After that it was all me. My greatest hits. School pictures up to last year's, my forced smile and uncomfortable eyes multiplied and staring back at me and creeping me out more than I’d like to admit. I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me more uncomfortable. Apparently that was possible. It was a shock to me as well.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket, (see biohazard suit) and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I locked up with the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the crunch of gravel as I walked. I didn't pause to admire my truck again; sentiment thrown aside in favor of getting out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood, seemed to force its way down my nostrils.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. It was comforting, somehow. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, to my disappointment, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Okay, well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected, and I jammed out to the smooth sounds of yesterday and today on my way to school.

Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It wasn’t obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop, back up, and enter the driveway. It looked more like a collection of matching houses than anything else, all built with the same maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution, I wondered sarcastically? Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors and the prison-like atmosphere we’d all come to know and love?

This looked almost welcoming. Of course, I thought quickly, the disjointed plan would also mean a lot of trudging through the rain, so there was that. I wasn’t in the mood for optimism.

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading FRONT OFFICE. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door. Inside, it was brightly lit and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, and a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and the brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed and nostalgic all at once. I missed T-shirts. Wondered if I’d be able to return to them once I’d acclimatized. But the thought of acclimatization was depressing in itself so I dropped it; I cleared my throat and tried to make it sound natural instead of rude.

The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Beau Swan. Or Beauregard, technically, but really it’s Beau," I informed her, and saw the slight confusion at my rambling turn to awareness in her eyes. I was expected, apparently. A topic of gossip, maybe. Prodigal son of the Chief’s flighty ex-wife, come home at last.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

She then went over my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me, and hoped, like Charlie had, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could. Yay Forks.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were just starting to show up. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad, but oddly surprised, to see that most of the cars were older, like mine. Nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as The Thing was moored securely in a spot so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me. More attention, that is.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now so I wouldn’t be forced to look at it later in front of my curious peers. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder and sucked in a huge breath. I could do this. It’s not like anyone was going to bite me. Were they? No. Definitely not. Just be normal. You can do this. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

I pulled my hood down over my face as I walked to the sidewalk crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black _3_ was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing stop as I approached the door. Tried to pretend I was holding my breath on purpose as I followed two unisex raincoats inside.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name—which I could tell was going to be a much-repeated and thoroughly lame occurrence—and I stared, waiting what passed for patiently, and ignoring the urge to raise an eyebrow. At last he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. He got points for that.

It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but they proved industrious. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic school fare: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting. And boring. I hadn’t dared to hope that I’d be bored already. The day was looking up.

I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. Went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on.

When the bell rang, a pale, skinny boy with a lot of acne and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

“You’re Beauregard Swan, aren’t you?”

Great—I looked over, trying to make my face seem polite—some overexcited chess club type trying to make buddies. Exactly what I needed.

Hey—I never said I wasn’t petty. It only got worse when I was having a bad day. Like my sarcasm.

“Beau,” I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me. True story.

“Where’s your next class?” he asked.

I blanked, had to check in my bag. Damn. “Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six.”

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

“I’m headed toward building four, I could show you the way?”

My hero.

“I’m Eric,” he added.

I forced what I hoped looked like a smile. “Thanks.”

We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. Several people seemed to be walking too close behind us—blatantly eavesdropping. Or they could have been. Possibly. I hoped I wasn’t getting paranoid. It was too early in the game for that.

“So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?” Eric asked.

“Yup.”

“It doesn’t rain much there, does it?”

“Nope.”

“Wow, what must that be like?” he wondered.

“Sunny,” I told him.

“You don’t look very tan.”

“My mother is part albino.”

He studied my face uneasily, and I stifled a groan. Okay, I was mostly being an asshole but that albino thing had been funny. A few months of this and I’d forget how to use sarcasm. Did they not do that here? Could I bring them the joys of it?

Forks. God.

We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric followed me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

“Well, good luck,” he said as I touched the handle. “Maybe we’ll have some other classes together.”

He sounded hopeful. I didn’t have the heart to point out that it was pretty much inevitable in a school this size. Just smiled at him vaguely, fleeing inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, hating him more with each stammer, and internally promising a reckoning, then proceeded to trip over my own boots on the way to my seat. Such talent.

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me the inevitable questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, so mostly I lied—the core of diplomacy. It was a good policy. At least I never needed the map again.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, probably two feet shorter than me, but her wildly curly dark hair made up some of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled on about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them, of course. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The guy from English, possibly named Eric, waved at me from across the room. I nodded noncommittally.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I saw the first truly interesting thing in Forks.

Well, things. Well, people.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. And there were five of them, and they weren't talking, weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me either, unlike most of the other students, which made it safe for me to gawk at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that had caught my attention. That held it.

It was the way they were all so alike.

It wasn’t that they _looked_ anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big—muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The last was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He looked younger than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here, rather than students.

The two girls were each other’s opposites. The tall one, with the waves of long golden hair, was statuesque and had the kind of figure you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue; the kind that made every guy around her forget how to use their brains and form coherent thoughts, let alone words. The short girl was pixie-like and thin in the extreme, with small features apart from the large eyes that dominated her face and with cropped messy hair of a deep shining black.

All five were completely different from each other, and yet, they were all eerily similar. That was what caught my attention. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the part-albino-on-my-mother’s-side. They all had very dark eyes despite the range in hair tones. They also had dark shadows under those eyes—purplish, bruise-like shadows. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose—though their noses, all their features, were straight, perfect, angular.

But even that eerie similarity between them wasn’t why I couldn't look away.

Their faces, so different, so similar, were all insanely, inhumanly beautiful. All of them. They were faces you never saw in real life, only in the airbrushed pages of magazines. Faces of angels as painted by one of the old masters. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful. The perfect blond girl was obviously perfect, but my eyes kept being drawn, magnetically, to the bronze-haired boy. Something about the color of that hair against that chalk skin kept bringing my gaze back to him.

They were all looking away; away from each other, away from the rest of the students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. It reminded me of models posed for an ad, putting on a becoming air of aesthetic ennui for the camera. As I watched, the small girl rose with her tray—unopened soda, untouched apple—and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer’s step, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who hadn’t moved a millimeter.

Creepy. I was intrigued.

"Who are they?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'd forgotten.

As she looked up to see who I meant—though seeming to already know who I was talking about, probably from my tone—suddenly he looked at her, the thinner bronze-haired one, the young one, youngest perhaps. He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to mine.

He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flash of embarrassment at being caught staring I had dropped my eyes immediately. In that brief moment of a glance, his face had held no interest—it was as if girl-from-Spanish had called his name, and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer. Then of course he saw me.

Nothing of interest there.

My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did.

"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife," she said this under her breath.

I glanced sideways at the interestingly disinterested boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his too-perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet I felt he was speaking quietly to them.

Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. The kind of name I had. I had a moment of happiness in wondering if maybe that was a thing here—small town names? Then I finally remembered my neighbor’s name, Jessica, a perfectly common name. There were two girls named Jessica in my History class back home.

Oh well. We live in hope.

"They’re all much too pretty." I said, understating what I had meant to say and muddling what I actually said. Jessica seemed to understand me well enough, regardless.

"Yes!" she agreed with another giggle. "They're all together though—Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they, like, live together." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought, happy to be able to dive back into cynicism, where the waters were warm. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.

"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked. "They don't look related..."

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins—the blondes—and they're foster children."

"Yeah but, aren’t they a little old for foster children? I mean, look at them."

"They are now. Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that."

"That's really kind of nice—for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so," Jessica admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. "I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though," she added, as if that somehow made her less kind.

Throughout our conversation, my eyes flicked again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat. It was starting to creep me out and I was beginning to think that I had an embarrassingly low creep-o-meter.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked, wondering how I hadn’t noticed them on one of my summers here.

"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, which, seriously how would it be?

A sharp stab of annoyance lanced me. This is why I didn’t bother talking to people.

"They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska," she went on.

I felt a surge of pity and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Then there was a kind of sadistic relief that came from thinking that I wasn't the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard. Misery loves company and all that jazz.

As I puzzled over them, the bronze haired youngest, one of the Cullens, looked up and met my gaze again, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation. Which was weird. Today was weird, okay? Just all around.

"Which one is the boy with the reddish-brown hair?" I asked. I snuck a look at him from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today—he had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked away again, trying to seem uninterested.

"That's Edward. He's the only single one out of the whole weird bunch. Gorgeous, of course,” she all but sighed, “but the weird thing is that he doesn't date. Apparently, none of the girls here are good enough for him." She sniffed. I wondered when he'd turned her down.

I cleared my throat, covering my mouth to hide my smile. Then I glanced at him again. His face was turned away, but I thought his cheek appeared lifted, as if he were smiling, too.

After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful—even the big, brawny one. It was unsettling to watch. Like I said, creepy. The one named Edward didn't look at me again.

I sat at the table with Jessica and her un-named friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. She was shy. It was nice. I liked Angela.

When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting next to that single open seat. I found I was equal parts excited and disconcerted to be forced into sitting with him. Loved a good creepy mystery.

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face—it was hostile, furious. I stopped, tipping my head on its side, brows drawn together, then quickly resumed walking when I realized that this action likely had me looking like a particularly confused puppy. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled. I tried hard not to glare.

During my momentary shock there’d run an electric current up my spine, the hairs on the nape of my neck standing at attention. Because I’d noticed at that moment that his eyes were black—coal black. _Lifeless eyes, black eyes, like a doll’s eyes_ , my memory threw at me, echoing the line in the movie Jaws.

Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along swimmingly. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by Edward, bewildered by the death-glare he'd thrown at me.

I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw his posture change from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my shirt. Laundry detergent, which seemed an innocent enough odor when I thought about it. I moved my chair to the ultimate edge of the table, giving him and his shark eyes all the room I could, and tried to pay attention to the teacher.

Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I pretended to take notes, doodling fitfully, always looking down.

I couldn't stop myself from glancing occasionally at the strange boy next to me. During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I became very aware of him, the tension he clearly displayed infecting me, making me nervous, a little shaky. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. It stayed strained throughout the class—the sight of the strain on those muscles more interesting than the teacher up front. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows, and his forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath his light skin. He wasn't nearly as slight as he'd looked next to his burly brother. I’d find that my jaw would be clenched, my body unconsciously mirroring his stiff posture, and I forced myself to relax too many times to count.

This class seemed to drag on longer than any of the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn't breathing. Was he breathing? Oh my god he wasn’t breathing! What was wrong with him? What was wrong with me? God, calm down. I questioned my judgment on Jessica's bitterness at lunch today. Maybe she wasn’t as resentful as I'd thought.

It couldn't have anything to do with me. It couldn’t. I was just some random new kid. Surely I wasn’t someone able to provoke such intense emotions so quickly. I mean, I was me.

I glanced over to him one more time and regretted it. He was glaring at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. It was a good glare as far as glares went. If looks could kill…. The old cliché kept running through my mind. Apt.

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edward Cullen was out of his seat. He rose fluidly—miles tall above—his back to me, and he was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat. I started breathing again once he was out of sight. Sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. Well that was intense.

I shook my head, trying to shake him and his weird behavior out of there, began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the sudden and strange sense of guilt that came out of nowhere. Why should I feel guilty? I hadn’t done anything wrong. How could I have? I hadn’t actually even met him yet, technically.

Wow I was weird. Everyone was right. Real weirdo.

"Aren't you Beauregard Swan?" a female voice asked.

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced girl, her pale blond hair falling in a nature-defying straight sheet over her shoulders, smiling at me in a very friendly way. She obviously didn't think I smelled bad.

"Beau," I corrected her, with a smile at myself for not letting the weirdness go even in the face of a pretty girl.

"I'm McKayla. Most people call me Mike, though. Don’t ask why."

"Hey, Mike." Now this I could handle. Kinda. "Don’t worry, I’m totally uninterested in the mysterious and almost definitely intriguing story behind your nickname."

She smiled. She understood my sarcasm. She understood my sarcasm! "Do you need any help finding your next class?"

I smiled in return, not wanting to seem entirely hopeless. "I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."

"That's my next class, too!" She seemed thrilled, though as I’d had to stifle myself from mentioning several times that day, it wasn't that big of a coincidence in a school this small.

We walked to class together; and just my luck she was a chatterer—She supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me, if slightly exasperating. She'd lived in California till she was ten, so she knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out she was in my English class also. Mike was officially the nicest person I'd met today.

But as we were entering the gym, she asked, "So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil, or what? I've never seen him act like that."

I cringed. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn't Edward Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.

"You mean the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked artlessly.

"Yes," she said. "The one that looks like he fell out of a magazine.” I rolled my eyes. “He looked like he was in pain or something. So did you stab him?"

"I don't know what I did," I responded, slightly worried at how much she looked like she wanted me to have stabbed him. "I didn’t even talk to him."

"He's a weird guy." Mike lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. "If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you."

I smiled crookedly at her before walking through the boys' locker room door and even threw her a wink. She so liked me. A girl actually liked me. For real. I should have been happy. Ecstatic even.

I wasn’t.

I was apparently only capable of feeling an annoying amount of lingering irritation toward a certain bronze-haired model boy who would henceforth be known as captain broody pants.

Oh, today was not good.

And next up for torture was gym.

The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp—no, I’m serious, that’s his last name—found me a uniform but didn't make me dress down for the day's class. At home, only two years of P.E. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. Forks was literally my personal hell on Earth.

I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously, remembering how many injuries I had sustained—and inflicted—playing volleyball. I felt faintly nauseated.

The final bell rang at last and I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork—shell shocked. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I zipped my coat up under my chin, retreating farther into my hood.

When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out.

Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I’d recognize that strategically-messy bronze hair anywhere after today. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.

He was arguing with her in a low, melodious voice and I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time—any other time.

I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. I hadn’t been nearly aggravating enough for all that. This was impossible. I didn’t live in a soap opera last I checked. All some big misunderstanding.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling past me and ruffling the hair that I’d just unhooded a moment ago. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen's back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at me—his face a perfect mask—to bore into me with his piercing, hate-filled, shark eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear raising the hairs on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. He turned back to the receptionist.

"Never mind, then," he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And he turned on his heel without another look at me, disappearing out the door.

I went to the desk on autopilot, my face white, and handed her the signed slip.

"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.

"Fine," I lied, my voice weak and wishing blandly that she hadn’t just called me dear. She didn't look convinced.

When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. Soon though, I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared angrily to life. I headed back to Charlie's house, denying the thoughts that kept invading my head.


	3. Open Book

The next day was better... and worse.

It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Mike came to sit by me in English, and walked with me to my next class, with Chess-Club Eric staring mutely all the while like he was the puppy I’d kicked; leaving me to wonder how I’d possibly kicked any puppies in my short time here, let alone so many—don’t think of Edward Cullen. People didn't look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included Mike, Eric, Jessica, and several other people whose names and faces I now mostly remembered. I began to feel like I was treading water, instead of awkwardly drowning in it.

It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the wind echoing around the house. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn't raised, and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn't dodge out of the way of the ball, I hit my teammate in the head with it.

Edward Cullen wasn't in school at all. I didn’t know where that should be filed on the good-bad spectrum.

It was good. Edward was clearly a crazy person. I didn’t need that in my life.

But that seemed too simple. It  _ seemed _ bad.

All morning I had been dreading lunch, fearing his bizarre glares. Part of me wanted to confront him; demand to know what his problem was. While I was lying sleepless in my bed, I even imagined what I would say, along with all the things I shouldn’t say, and even fought him a time or two. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. I made the Cowardly Lion look like the Terminator.

When I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica—trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for him and failing spectacularly—I saw that his four siblings-of-sorts were sitting together at the same table. And he was not with them.

Mike intercepted us and walked us to our usual table. Jessica seemed strangely and bashfully pleased by the attention, I noticed idly, but as I tried to listen to their easy chatter, I was uncomfortable. Twitchy wouldn’t be overstating it. Nervous, waiting for the moment Edward would walk in. Best case scenario, he would ignore me when he came, and prove my suspicions were mere delusions.

Worst case….

He didn't come, and as time passed, I grew more and more tense.

I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, he still hadn't showed. Mike, who seemed more and more the human equivalent of a golden retriever the longer I knew her, in the best way of course, walked faithfully by my side to class. I decided that she’d make a really good friend, and hoped she’d not hate me forever if I friend-zoned her. I held my breath at the door, but Edward Cullen wasn't there, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. Mike followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. She lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then she smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a girl with braces and a bad perm. I really was going to have to do something about Mike, and it wouldn't be easy. In a town like this, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, diplomacy was essential. I had never been enormously tactful, and I had zero practice dealing with overly friendly girls. Even normally friendly ones were beyond my scope.

I was relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Edward hadn’t shown. I told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason he wasn't there. It was ridiculous, not to mention egotistical, to think that I could affect anyone that strongly—negatively or otherwise. There was no way. It was impossible. And yet, I couldn't stop wondering if it was true.

When the school day was finally done, and the obligatory volleyball incident for the day was behind me, I changed quickly back into my jeans and navy-blue sweater. I hurried from the boys' locker room, pleased to find that I had successfully evaded my retriever friend for the moment. I walked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my bag to make sure that I had what I needed.

Last night I'd discovered that Charlie couldn't cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. So I took over all further kitchen duty for the duration of my stay. He was willing enough to stop cooking—or whatever it was that he did that had kept him fed all these years. With something finally to do, I did some kitchen reconnaissance and was shocked, shocked I tell you, to find out that he had no real food in the house. So today I had my shopping list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, which was kind of adorable in a dad way, and I was on my way to the Thriftway.

I gunned my deafening engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and backed carefully into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw the two Cullens and the Hale twins getting into their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. I hadn't noticed their clothes before—I'd been too intent on their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but well. Rich. With their remarkable good looks and style, they could have worn dishrags and probably pulled it off. But it seemed they didn’t have to. It seemed a bit much that they’d have both looks and money. But as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time, being not fair and all. It didn't look as if either bought them any acceptance here.

I chuckled to myself. Like I believed that. They must want isolation; I couldn't imagine any door that wouldn't be opened by those looks backed with a blank check.

They glanced at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. I kept my eyes straight forward and was relieved when I finally was free of the school grounds.

The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal somehow. I always did the shopping at home, and stores are all the same. I fell into the familiar pattern gladly. As an added bonus, the store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.

When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever I could find an open space. I hoped Charlie wouldn't mind. I wrapped potatoes in foil and threw them in the oven, covered a steak in marinade and balanced it precariously on top of a carton of eggs in the fridge.

When I was finished with that, I took my school bag upstairs. Before starting my homework, I changed into a pair of dry sweats out of necessity, then checked my e-mail for the first time. I had three messages.

"Beau," my mom wrote...

Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, but I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi. Mom.

I sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first.

“Beau,” she wrote...

Why haven’t you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom.

The last was from this morning.

Beauregard Swan,

If I haven’t heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I’m calling Charlie.

I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but Mom was known for jumping the gun.

Mom,

Calm down. I’m writing right now. Don’t do anything crazy.

Beau.

I sent that, and then started the next, beginning with a lie. I was getting better at lies.

Everything is great. Of course it’s raining, seriously? And boring. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn’t bad, just a little repetitive. I met some okay kids who sit by me at lunch.

Your shirt is at the dry cleaners—you were supposed to pick it up Friday.

Charlie bought me a truck, can you believe it? It’s awesome. It’s old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me, I guess.

I miss you, too. I’ll write again soon, but I’m not going to check my e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you.

Beau.

I was spared trying to find something to do to kill the time when I heard the front door bang open. I hurried downstairs gladly to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.

“Beau?” my father called out when he heard me on the stairs.

Nope, totally a burglar, I thought to myself.

“Hey, Dad, Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Thanks.” He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I moved around the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he’d never shot the gun on the job, but he kept it ready. When I’d come here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose. So that was encouraging.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked warily. Mom was an imaginative cook, when she bothered, and her experiments weren’t always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.

“Steak and potatoes,” I answered. Charlie looked relieved. “With broccoli.” This got a suppressed frown.

He obviously felt awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. I think we were both more comfortable that way. I sautéed broccoli while the steak cooked, and after pulling it out I set the table.

He got called in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room.

“Smells good, Beau.”

“Thanks.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t awkward. Both of us liked quiet. In some ways, we were good roommates.

“So, how do you like school? Make any friends?” he asked as he was taking seconds.

"I have a few classes with this girl named Jessica. She’s pretty nice. I sit with her and her friends at lunch. And there's this other girl who wants me to call her Mike, who's pretty nice. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception. Yes. My encounter with Captain Broody Pants was still firmly lodged in the back of my mind.

"That must be McKayla Newton. Nice kid—nice family. Her dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. Makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here."

"Do you know the Cullen family?" I asked hesitantly.

"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. Dr. Cullen's a great man."

"They... the kids... are kinda different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."

Charlie surprised me by looking angry.

"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary he gets here," he continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have him—lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town. He's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature—I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should—camping trips every other weekend... Just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."

It was the longest speech I'd ever heard Charlie make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying.

I backpedaled. "They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They all have very good bone structure," I added, trying to be more complimentary.

"You should see the doctor," Charlie said, laughing. "It's a good thing he's happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around."

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV and after I finished washing the dishes by hand—no dishwasher—I went upstairs unwillingly to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making. That night it was finally quiet; no rain or wind. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted.

The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the students at school. In Gym, the kids on my team learned not to pass me the ball and to cover for my all-around lameness in the field of athletics. I’m good at knowing when to just stay out of the way.

Oh yeah, and Edward Cullen didn't come back to school.

Every day, I watched surreptitiously until the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without him. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that Mike was putting together. I was invited, being her favorite, and I had agreed to go, more out of a burning desire for her to stay friends with me once I inevitably let her down romantically than out of a need to visit a beach. Beaches should be hot, sandy and sunny as a rule.

By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Edward would be there. For all I knew, he had dropped out of school. I tried not to think about him, but I couldn't totally suppress the thought that I was somehow weirdly responsible for his continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed. I was kinda on a power trip about it.

My first weekend in Forks passed without problem. Charlie, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I cleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, and wrote my mom more fake-cheery e-mails, looking for things to fill the seemingly endless free time that I wasn’t at all used to or comfortable with. I did drive to the library Saturday, but it was so poorly stocked that I didn't bother to get a card; I would have to make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got... and then made myself stop wondering.

The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep. Life was good.

People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all their names, but I waved back and remembered to smile at people. It was colder this morning, but happily not raining. In English, Mike took her accustomed seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was all so very easy.

All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.

When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my cheeks, my nose.

"Wow," Mike said, smiling. "It's snowing."

I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.

"Ew." Snow. There went my good day.

She looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?"

"Pft. No. Snow just means it's too cold for rain." Obviously. "Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes—you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips."

"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" she asked incredulously.

"Sure I have." I paused. "On TV. You know, at a healthy distance.”

Mike laughed. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of her head. We both turned to see where it came from. I had my suspicions about Eric, who was walking away, his back toward us—in the wrong direction for his next class. Mike apparently had the same suspicion. She bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush.

"Right. I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. "Once people start throwing wet stuff, I go inside."

She just nodded, her narrowed eyes on Eric's retreating figure.

Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the new year. I kept my mouth shut. Sure, it was drier than rain—until it melted in your socks.

I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Jessica after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield if necessary. Then as a weapon. Jessica thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept her from lobbing a snowball at me herself.

Mike caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, with ice clinging to her hair, the moisture making it go a bit wavy. She and Jessica were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people at the table. Five.

Jessica pulled on my arm.

"Hello? Beau? What do you want?"

I looked down; my ears were hot. What was wrong with me? I had no reason to feel self-conscious,

I reminded myself that in no way had I done anything even close to wrong.

"What's with Beau?" Mike asked Jessica.

"Nothing," I answered. "I'll just get a soda." I caught up to the end of the line.

"Aren't you hungry?" Jessica asked.

"Actually, I feel sick," I said, my eyes still on the floor.

I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to a table, my eyes anywhere but on the table where five people sat.

I sipped my soda slowly, my stomach churning. Twice Mike asked, with unnecessary concern, how I was feeling. I told her I was good, but I was wondering if I should play it up and escape to the nurse's office for the next hour. And then I hated myself for a while. I couldn’t just run away. I decided to permit myself one glance at the Cullen family's table, knowing that if he was glaring at me, I would skip Biology like the coward I was.

I kept my head averted and glanced over casually. None of them were looking this way. I shifted my head a little. They were laughing. Edward, Jasper, and Emmett all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Alice and Rosalie were leaning away as Emmett shook his dripping hair toward them. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else—only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.

But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn't quite pinpoint what that difference was. I examined Edward the most carefully. His skin was less pale, I decided—flushed from the snow fight maybe—the circles under his eyes much less noticeable. But there was something more. I pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change.

"Beau, what are you staring at?" Jessica intruded, her eyes following my stare.

At that precise moment, his eyes flashed over to meet mine. I flopped my face in my palms. What a friend, Jess. I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes met, that he didn't look nearly as angry or intense as he had the last time I'd seen him. He looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you," Jessica whispered in my ear.

I kept my face firmly buried in my palms. "Does he look kind of like he wants to kill my unborn spawn?" I couldn't help asking.

"No," she said, sounding confused by my question. "Should he?"

"I get the feeling that he violently dislikes me," I confided. I still felt queasy. I put my head down on my arm.

"The Cullens don't like anybody... well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But he's still staring at you."

"Please stop looking at him," I quietly begged.

She snickered, but she looked away. I raised my head enough to make sure that she did, contemplating bestowing a soggy cold fate on her at great personal risk if she resisted.

Mike interrupted us then—she was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jessica agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at Mike made me get the feeling that she would be up for anything Mike suggested. I kept silent, letting her have her secrets and not likely to volunteer for soggy torture. I would just have to hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared. That was all there was to it.

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. It was a commendable effort. I decided to honor the bargain I'd made with myself. Since he didn't look particularly terrifying, I would go to Biology. My stomach seemed to actively hate me for thinking of sitting next to him again.

I didn't really want to walk to class with Mike as usual—she seemed to be a popular target for the snowball snipers—but when we went to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. Victory! I pulled my hood up, suddenly free to go straight home after Gym.

Mike kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.

Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. Mr. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling a cartoon rabbit on the cover of my notebook.

I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed purposely focused on the pattern I was drawing.

"Hello," said a smooth, quiet voice. His voice.

I looked up, stunned to realize that he was speaking to me. He was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled toward me. His hair was dripping wet, disheveled—but even so, he looked like he'd just finished shooting a commercial for hair product. His dazzling face was friendly, open, a slight smile on his flawless lips. But his eyes were careful. Guarded. And I remained guarded, as well.

"My name is Edward Cullen," he continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Beau Swan."

My mind and I were both so confused. Had I made up the whole thing? He was perfectly polite now. Which I suppose meant I had to speak; he was waiting. The problem was that I couldn't think of anything conventional to say.

"How do you know my name?" I blurted.

He laughed, a soft pleasant sound that I searched thoroughly for mockery, surprised to find no signs.

"Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

I grimaced. Knew it was something like that.

"No," I persisted, stupidly. "I meant, why did you call me Beau?"

He seemed confused. "Do you prefer Beauregard?"

"No, I like Beau," I said. "But nobody else seems to. I mean, I think Char—my dad—must go around calling me Beauregard behind my back—that's what everyone here seems to know me as," I tried to explain, feeling like an utter moron.

"Oh." He let it drop.

So much failure at talking. I looked away awkwardly.

Thankfully, Mr. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, he would be coming around to see who had it right.

"Get started," he commanded. Love a bossy man in a lab coat.

"Care to try your hand?" Edward asked. I looked up to see him smiling a crooked smile. And at that moment I got a feeling that was very close to the feeling I felt I should only feel when I felt a pretty girl was hitting on me, if you catch my meaning. Which was unexpected, to say the least. I could only stare at him like an idiot. It wasn’t a hard look for me.

"Or I could start, if you wish." The smile faded; he was obviously wondering if I was mentally competent. I couldn’t exactly tell him that when he’d smiled at me just then I’d felt a little like the world had slipped out from under me a couple feet while a hot air balloon rose in my chest and someone tied a knot in my stomach trapping hundreds of tiny live butterflies inside and I was freaking out just a bit about that particular reaction because I’d never felt like that in regards to, like, anyone ever before, so kindly wait a moment while I have a slight identity crisis over here, okay? either. You know?

"No," I said, embarrassed to be blushing of all things, which made me flush a deeper red. "I'll go ahead."

Once I was looking into the microscope, I could breathe again. I pushed any strange feelings aside. Deep aside. Just focused on the work, which was something that I could do. I could even show off, just a little. But god help me, why did I want to? I'd already done this lab, and I knew what I was looking for. It should be easy. Yup. I snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and adjusted it quickly to the 40X objective. I studied the slide briefly.

My assessment was confident. At least I was confident of something. The last minute and a half had been harrowing. "Prophase."

"Do you mind if I look?" he asked as I began to remove the slide. His hand caught mine, to stop me, as he asked. His fingers were ice-cold, like he'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn't why I jerked my hand away so quickly. I mean, you know why. But also, when he touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us. And it was a good sting. I swallowed, so close to just leaving.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, pulling his hand back immediately. However, he continued to reach for the microscope. I watched him, still staggered, as he examined the slide for an even shorter time than I had.

"Prophase," he agreed, writing it neatly in the first space on our worksheet. He swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at it cursorily.

"Anaphase," he murmured, writing it down as he spoke. Smug bastard.

I kept my voice indifferent, mirroring his earlier question. "Do you mind?"

He smirked and pushed the microscope to me.

I looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Of course he was right.

"Slide three?" I held out my hand without looking at him.

He handed it to me; it seemed like he was being careful not to touch my skin again. Which was good. Very good.

I took the most fleeting look I could manage.

"Interphase." I passed him the microscope before he could ask for it. He took a swift peek, and then wrote it down. I would have written it while he looked, but his clear, elegant script intimidated me. Just as much as he did. I didn't want to spoil the page with my clumsy scrawl.

We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see Mike and her partner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their book open under the table.

Which left me with nothing to do but try not to look at him... unsuccessfully. I glanced over, and he was staring at me, that same inexplicable look of frustration in his eyes. Suddenly, probably as a defense mechanism, distracting myself, I identified that subtle difference in his face.

"Did you get contacts?" I blurted out unthinkingly.

He seemed puzzled by my unexpected question. "No."

"Oh," I mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

He shrugged and looked away.

In fact, I was sure there was something different. I vividly remembered the flat black color of his eyes the last time he'd glared at me—the whole shark, doll, Jaws movie thing really stuck—the color had been striking against the background of his pale skin and his auburn hair. Even then, when he was terrifying, he had struck me, I realized, almost losing it, overwhelmed and breathing way way too fast. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange butterscotch-type color. I didn't understand how that could be, unless he was lying for some reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word. It was probably that last one.

I looked down. His hands were clenched into hard fists again.

Mr. Banner came to our table then, to see why we weren't working. He looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers.

"So, Edward, didn't you think Beauregard should get a chance with the microscope?" Mr. Banner asked.

"Beau," Edward corrected automatically. I swallowed when he said my name, my breath coming even faster, not able to deal with this at all. "Actually, he identified three of the five."

Mr. Banner looked at me now; his expression was skeptical.

"Have you done this lab before?" he asked.

I nodded distractedly. "Not with onion root, though."

"Whitefish blastula?"

"Yeah."

Mr. Banner jerked his head. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes."

"Well," he said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." He mumbled something else as he walked away. After he left, I began drawing a noose for the cartoon rabbit on my notebook.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edward asked. I had the feeling that he was forcing himself to make small talk with me. Paranoia swept over me again. It was like he had heard my conversation with Jessica at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong. And any other time that would be fine. Super hearing. Whatever. Cool.

"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate.

"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question.

"Or the wet."

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," he mused.

"You have no idea," I muttered darkly.

He looked fascinated by what I said for some reason I couldn't imagine. His face was such a distraction at that point that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.

"Why did you come here, then?"

It snapped me out of myself a bit. No one had asked me that—not straight out like he did, demanding.

"It's... complicated."

"I think I can keep up," he pressed.

Smug.

I paused for a long moment, pushing away the annoyance that jumped up at his tone, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His dark gold eyes struck, palpably, and I answered without thinking.

"My mom got remarried," I said.

"That doesn't sound so complex," he disagreed, but he was suddenly sympathetic. "When did that happen?"

"Last September." My voice sounded sad, even to me. But not for the reason he would assume. I wanted my Mom here now. In this moment she sounded like the best thing in the world. She, weirdly enough, given how unstable she was, could stabilize me like no one else could.

"And you don't like him," Edward surmised, his tone still kind.

"No, Phil is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough."

"Why didn't you stay with them?"

I couldn't fathom his interest, and I kept thinking myself too distracted for this conversation, but he continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally important. And it made me want to tell him.

"Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living." I half-smiled, thinking of games I’d been dragged to.

"Have I heard of him?" he asked, smiling in response.

"Probably not. He doesn't play that well. Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot."

"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him." He said it as an assumption again, not a question.

My chin raised a fraction. Sent me, indeed. "No, she didn’t  _ send _ me here.  _ I _ sent me here."

His eyebrows knit together. "I don't understand," he admitted, and he seemed unnecessarily frustrated by that fact.

I sighed. Why was I explaining this to him? He continued to stare at me with obvious curiosity. Fine.

"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy... so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie." My voice was back to glum by the time I’d finished.

"But now you're unhappy," he pointed out.

"And?" I challenged.

"That doesn't seem fair." He shrugged, but his eyes were still intense.

I laughed without humor. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life ain't fair." And boy, they weren’t kidding.

"I believe I have heard that somewhere before," he agreed dryly.

"So that's all," I insisted, wondering why he was still staring at me that way.

His gaze became appraising. "You put on a good show," he said slowly. "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

I was caught up short, stopping my eyes from going wide and my breath from halting on pure determination alone. To hide this I grimaced at him, just barely resisting the impulse to stick out my tongue like a five-year-old, feeling that would be too over the top, and settled for looking away.

"Am I wrong?"

I tried to ignore him.

"I didn't think so," he murmured smugly.

"Why does it matter to you?" I asked, irritated. I kept my eyes away, watching the teacher make his rounds.

"That's a very good question," he muttered, so quietly that I wondered if he was talking to himself. However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get.

I sighed, again—I was starting to make a habit of it—and turned my scowl on the blackboard.

"Am I annoying you?" he asked. He sounded amused.

I glanced at him without thinking, caught short by his eyes... and almost told the truth. "Not exactly. More annoyed at myself.” Which was definitely true. “I’ve been told my face is easy to read—my mom says I’m her open book." I frowned. She usually read me wrong and I went along to spare her feelings.

"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." Despite everything that I'd said and he'd guessed, he sounded like he meant it. He should consider himself lucky.

"You must not be as well read on the subject as my mother.” I shrugged, eyes averted pointlessly. They were pulled right back half a second later. “But you’re a good reader?” I asked. “With other people?" It would explain the frustration I so frequently saw on his face when he looked at me.

"Usually." He smiled widely, flashing a set of sickeningly perfect, ultra-white, teeth. The feeling walloped me again and it was almost painful. And I’d had enough for the day.

Mr. Banner called the class to order then and I turned, relieved, to listen. I was in disbelief that I'd just explained my dreary life to this bizarre creature who may or may not want to kill me, and who I may or may not have feelings for in the painfully physical and worst possible sense of the word. He'd seemed engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that he was leaning away from me again, his hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension. Mirroring my emotions completely.

I tried to appear attentive as Mr. Banner illustrated, with transparencies on the overhead projector, what I had seen without difficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts were unmanageable.

When the bell finally rang, Edward rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as he had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after him in amazement.

Mike skipped quickly to my side as I gathered my books. I imagined her with a wagging tail, then berated myself for it.

"That was awful," she groaned. "They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had Cullen for a partner."

"I didn't have any trouble," I said, stung by her assumption. I regretted the snub instantly. Apparently, I was a barbarian who couldn’t be trusted with words. "I've done the lab before, though," I added before she could get her feelings hurt.

"Cullen seemed friendly enough today," she commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. She didn’t seem pleased about it.

I tried to sound indifferent. "I wonder what was with him last Monday."

I couldn't concentrate on Mike's chatter as we walked to Gym, and P. E. didn't do much to hold my attention, either. Mike was on my team today. She dutifully covered my position as well as her own, so my woolgathering was only interrupted when it was my turn to serve; my team ducked warily out of the way every time I was up. I couldn’t even pretend to care.

The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was happier when I was in the dry cab. I got the heater running, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down, and fluffed my damp hair up so it wouldn’t dry funny on the way home.

I looked around me to make sure it was clear. That's when I noticed the still, white figure. Edward Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. I looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again, with greater success this time. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but from a peripheral peek, I could swear I saw him laughing.

And as my stomach flipped at the sight, then plummeted, ashamed at its own behavior, the school day came to a fitting close.


	4. Phenomenon

When I opened my eyes in the morning, something was different.

It was the light. It was still the gray-green light of a cloudy day in the forest, but it was clearer somehow. I realized there was no fog veiling my window.

I jumped up to look outside, and then looked longer, numb yet dreading.

A fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of my truck, and whitened the road. But that wasn't the worst part. All the rain from yesterday had frozen solid—coating the needles on the trees in fantastic, gorgeous patterns, which was cool and all if it hadn’t also made the driveway a deadly ice slick. I had enough trouble not falling down when the ground was dry. It might be safer for me, definitely preferable, to go back to bed now.

Charlie had left for work before I got downstairs. In a lot of ways, living with Charlie was like having my own place, and I found myself cheered a bit, reveling in the aloneness instead of feeling lonely like I probably should.

I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice from the carton. I felt excited to go to school, and that scared me. It scared me solid. Nothing had been resolved. I couldn’t even get myself to think about the feelings I’d had the day before, let alone what they meant. It definitely wasn't the stimulating learning environment I was anticipating, or even seeing my new set of friends. If I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Edward Cullen. And that was very, very stupid.

I should be avoiding him entirely after yesterday. After my  _ feelings _ . And I was suspicious of him; why should he lie about his eyes? I was still wary of the hostility I sometimes felt emanating from him, and I was still tongue-tied whenever I pictured his perfect, stupid face. And I couldn’t feel the way I felt when I looked at him looking the way that he looked. Not for  _ him _ . I just couldn’t. So I shouldn't be at all anxious to see him today. But I was. And I hated it.

It took every ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway alive. I almost lost my balance when I finally got to the truck, but I managed to cling to the side mirror and save myself. Clearly, today was going to be nightmarish.

Driving to school, I distracted myself from my fear of falling and my unwanted speculations about Edward Cullen by thinking about Mike, and the obvious way that she responded to me. But I didn’t respond back. Why didn’t I respond back? Girls twice as pretty as her hadn’t made me feel half as stupid and nervous and hypnotized as one stupid smile from Edward had. And why was he smiling at me? Talking to me? And there were more girls than Mike showing an interest. I was sure I looked exactly the same as I had in Phoenix. Maybe it was just that my peers back home had watched me pass slowly through all the awkward phases of adolescence and still thought of me that way. Perhaps it was because I was a novelty here, where novelties were few and far between. Whatever the reason, Mike's faithful puppy behavior was disconcerting. Edward in general was past disconcerting by a mile. I wasn't sure if I didn't prefer being ignored.

My truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. I drove very slowly, though, not wanting to carve a path of destruction through Main Street.

When I got out of my truck at school, I saw why I'd had so little trouble. Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the truck—carefully, holding the side for support—to examine my tires. There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them. Charlie had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck. My throat suddenly felt tight. I wasn't used to being taken care of.  _ I _ took care of people. Charlie's unspoken concern caught me by surprise on a day where my emotions were completely up in the air.

I was standing by the back corner of the truck, struggling to fight back the sudden wave of staggering gratitude that the snow chains had brought on, when I heard an odd sound.

It was a high-pitched screech, and it was becoming painfully loud. I looked up, startled.

I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion, the way it does in the movies. Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to make my brain work much faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail several things at once.

Edward Cullen was standing four cars down from me, staring at me in horror. I tried to understand the emotion in context but failed. His face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same mask of shock. But of more immediate importance was the dark blue van that was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot. It was going to hit the back corner of my truck, and it had to go through me to do that. I didn't even have time to close my eyes.

Just before I expected to hear the shattering crunch of the van folding around the truck bed, something hit me, hard, which was expected, but it didn’t hit me from the direction that I was expecting. What? My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something solid and cold pinning me to the ground. I was lying on the pavement behind the tan car I'd parked next to. But I didn't have a chance to notice anything else, because the van was still coming. It had curled gratingly around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding, was about to collide with me again.

Shit.

A low curse that hadn’t come from me made me aware that someone was with me, and the voice was impossible not to recognize. Two large, white hands shot out protectively in front of me, and the van shuddered to a stop a foot from my face, the large hands fitting providentially into a deep dent in the side of the van's body.

Then Edward’s hands moved so fast that they blurred. One was suddenly gripping under the body of the van, and something was dragging me, swinging my legs around like a rag doll's, till they hit the tire of the tan car. A groaning metallic thud hurt my ears, and the van settled, glass popping, onto the asphalt—its tire exactly where, a second ago, my legs had been.

It was absolutely silent for one long second before the screaming began. That second felt like an eternity in which I could only see Edward’s face as it had looked when he’d been standing amidst the crowd of shocked students. Then the second’s silence ended. In the abrupt bedlam, I could hear more than one person shouting my name. But more clearly than all the yelling, I could hear Edward Cullen's low, frantic voice in my ear.

"Beau? Are you all right?"

"I'm good." My voice sounded strange. I tried to sit up, and realized he was holding me against the side of his body in an iron grasp. Which he couldn’t do. No.

"Be careful," he warned as I struggled. "I think you hit your head pretty hard."

I became aware of a throbbing ache centered above my left ear only after he’d mentioned it.

"Ow," I said, in sudden pain. I took unobservant to new heights.

"That's what I thought." His voice, amazingly, sounded like he was suppressing laughter.

"How in the..." I trailed off, trying to clear my head, get my bearings. "How did you get here so fast?"

"I was standing right next to you, Beau," he said, his tone serious again.

I turned to sit up, and this time he let me, releasing his hold around my waist and sliding as far from me as he could in the limited space. I looked at his concerned, innocent expression and was disoriented again by the force of his golden eyes. What was I asking him? God damn my head hurt.

And then they found us, a roiling crowd of people surging in, shouting at each other, shouting at us.

"Don't move," someone instructed.

"Get Tyler out of the van!" someone else shouted.

There was a flurry of activity around us. I tried to get up, but Edward's cold hand pushed my shoulder down.

"Just stay put for now."

"But it's cold," I complained. It surprised me when he chuckled under his breath. There was an edge to the sound.

"You were over there," I suddenly remembered, stopping his chuckle short and feeling kind of smug about it. "You were by your car."

His expression turned hard. "No, I wasn't."

"I saw you." All around us was chaos. I could hear the gruffer voices of adults arriving on the scene. But I obstinately held on to our argument; I was right, and he was going to admit it.

"Beau, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way." He unleashed the full, devastating power of his eyes on me, as if trying to communicate something crucial. His eyes were almost pleading. And they moved me. But I didn’t know what he was begging for, and I wanted to take everything that he had made me feel out on him. I didn’t want to give him his way.

"No." I set my jaw.

The gold in his eyes blazed. "Please, Beau."

"Why?" I demanded.

"Trust me," he pleaded, his soft voice overwhelming.

I could hear the sirens now. "Promise to explain everything to me later."

"Fine," he snapped, abruptly exasperated.

"Fine," I repeated angrily.

It took six EMTs and two teachers—Mr. Varner and Coach Clapp—still his name—to shift the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Edward vehemently refused his, and I tried to do the same, but the traitor told them I'd hit my head and probably had a concussion. I almost punched him when they insisted on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance. Edward got to ride in the front. I was fairly certain that I hated him.

To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived before they could get me safely away.

"Beau!" he yelled in panic when he recognized me on the stretcher.

"I'm totally fine, Char—Dad," I sighed. "Whatever. The point is there's nothing wrong with me."

He turned to the closest EMT for a second opinion. I tuned him out to consider the jumble of inexplicable images churning chaotically in my head. When they'd lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent in the tan car's bumper—a very distinct dent that fit the contours of Edward's shoulders... as if he had braced himself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame...

And then there was his family, looking on from the distance, with expressions that ranged from disapproval to fury but held no hint of concern for their brother's safety.

I tried to think of a logical solution that could explain what I had just seen—a solution that excluded the assumption that I was insane. That was a given at this point.

Naturally, the ambulance got a police escort to the county hospital. I felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse was that Edward simply glided through the hospital doors under his own power. I ground my teeth together.

They put me in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A stunningly pretty nurse whose smile didn’t make my stomach flip put a pressure cuff on my arm and a thermometer under my tongue. Since no one bothered pulling the curtain around to give me some privacy, I decided I wasn't obligated to wear the stupid-looking neck brace anymore. When the nurse walked away, I quickly unfastened the Velcro and threw it under the bed, hiding it’s existence.

There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to me. I recognized Tyler Crowley from my Government class beneath the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around her head. Tyler looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But she was staring anxiously at me.

"Beau, I'm so sorry!"

"Hey, no, I'm fine. You’re bleeding though, are you alright?" As we spoke, nurses began unwinding her soiled bandages, exposing a myriad of shallow slices all over her forehead and left cheek. I hissed in sympathy. It looked like it hurt a hell of a lot more than anything I’d received.

She ignored me, continuing to talk. "I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong..." She winced as one nurse started dabbing at her face.

"Don't worry about it; you missed me."

"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone..."

"Umm... Edward pulled me out of the way."

She looked confused. "Who?"

"Edward Cullen—he was standing next to me." I'd always been a terrible liar and my recent practice hadn’t helped as much as I’d thought; I didn't sound convincing at all.

"Cullen? I didn't see him... wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is he okay?"

"I think so. He's here somewhere, but they didn't make him use a stretcher."

I knew I wasn't crazy. Well, not that crazy. So what had happened? There was no way to explain away what I'd seen.

They wheeled me away then, to X-ray my head. Probably because of the crazy. I told them there was nothing physically wrong, and I was right. Not even a concussion. I asked if I could leave, but the pretty nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first. So I was trapped in the ER, waiting, harassed by Tyler's constant apologies and promises to make it up to me. No matter how many times I tried to convince her that I was fine, and dear god she could stop apologizing now, she continued to torment herself. Finally, I closed my eyes and ignored her. Sadly, she couldn’t take a hint and kept up her remorseful mumbling.

"Is he sleeping?" a familiar soothing voice asked. How someone so aggravating could have such a soothing voice was beyond me. My eyes flew open.

Edward was standing at the foot of my bed, smirking. I glared at him. It wasn't easy. Sadly, awkward as it might have made me feel, I had to admit it would have felt more natural to ogle the guy. Beautiful bastard.

"Hey, Edward, I'm really sorry—" Tyler began.

Edward lifted a hand to stop her.

"No blood, no foul," he said, flashing his brilliant teeth. He moved to sit on the edge of Tyler's bed, facing me. Smirked again.

"So, what's the verdict?" he asked me.

"Physically, there's nothing even remotely wrong with my brain. They still refuse to let me go, though," I complained. "Why exactly aren’t you strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

"It's all about who you know," he answered. "But don't worry, I came to spring you."

A doctor walked around the corner, saving me the embarrassment of smiling at the joke of my enemy, and my mouth abruptly fell open. He was young, blond, I swallowed and grimaced but had to admit that he was handsome too. I could have admitted it with much less angst a few days ago. He was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under his eyes. From Charlie's description, this had to be Edward's father.

"So, Mr. Swan," Dr. Cullen said in an appealing voice that was as soothing as his sons, if not more so. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I said, for the last time, I hoped.

He walked to the lightboard on the wall over my head and turned it on.

"Your X-rays look good," he said. "Does your head hurt? Edward said you hit it pretty hard."

"It's fine," I repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick scowl toward Edward.

The doctor's cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. He noticed when I winced.

"Tender?" he asked.

"Not horribly." I'd had worse.

I heard a chuckle and looked over to see Edward's patronizing smile. My eyes narrowed.

"Well, your father is in the waiting room—you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."

"I can’t go back to school?" I asked, imagining Charlie trying to be attentive.

"Maybe you should take it easy today."

I glanced at Edward. "Does he get to go to school?"

"Someone has to spread the good news that we survived," Edward said smugly.

"Actually," Dr. Cullen corrected, "most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."

"Oh, awesome," I breathed sarcastically, covering my face with my hands.

Dr. Cullen raised his eyebrows. "Do you want to stay?"

"No, I’m good!" I insisted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly—I staggered, and Dr. Cullen caught me. He looked concerned.

"I'm fine, just mortifyingly uncoordinated," I assured him again. Sadly, my balance problems had nothing to do with hitting my head.

"Take some Tylenol for the pain," he suggested as he steadied me.

"It doesn't hurt that bad," I insisted.

"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," Dr. Cullen said, smiling as he signed my chart with a flourish.

"Lucky Edward happened to be standing next to me," I amended with a hard glance at the subject of my statement.

"Oh, well, yes," Dr. Cullen agreed, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of him. Then he looked away, at Tyler, and walked to the next bed. My intuition flickered; the doctor was in on it.

"I'm afraid that you'll have to stay with us just a little bit longer," he said to Tyler, and began checking her cuts.

As soon as the doctor's back was turned, I moved to Edward's side.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I growled under my breath. He took a step back from me, his jaw suddenly clenched.

"Your father is waiting for you," he said through his teeth.

I glanced at Dr. Cullen and Tyler.

"I need to speak with you alone, like, yesterday," I pressed.

He glared, then turned his back and strode down the long room. I nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as we turned the corner into a short hallway, he spun around to face me.

"What do you want?" he asked, sounding annoyed. His eyes were cold.

I chilled mine to match. Still, eyes glued to his face, my words came out with less severity than I'd intended. "You owe me an explanation," I reminded him.

"I saved your life—I don't owe you anything."

I wondered at the resentment in his voice. "You’re going back on your word," I said, hating the note of hurt in my words.

Edward looked troubled for a flash of a moment but pressed on. "Beau, you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about." His tone was cutting.

My temper flared as it was wont to do around him and I glared defiantly. "There's nothing wrong with my head. I have the x-rays to prove it."

He glared back. "What do you want from me, Beau?"

"The truth," I said. "I want to know why I'm lying for you."

"What do you think happened?" he snapped.

It came out in a rush.

"All I know is that you weren't anywhere near me—and Tyler didn't see you either, so don't tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both—and it didn't, your hands left dents in the side of it—and then you left a dent in the other car. And somehow you're not hurt at all. And the van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up..." I could hear how crazy it sounded, and I couldn't continue. I was so mad I could feel the tendons in my jaw humming with the tension they were under; I tried not to grind my teeth together.

He was staring at me incredulously. But his face was tense, defensive.

"You think I lifted a van off you?" His tone questioned my sanity, but it only made me more suspicious. It was like a perfectly delivered line by a skilled actor.

I nodded curtly, jaw still tight.

"Nobody will believe that, you know." His voice held an edge of derision now.

"Why in God’s name would I tell anybody my crazy-person story?" I said each word slowly, carefully controlling my anger.

Surprise flitted across his face. "Then why does it matter?"

"It matters to me," I insisted. "It takes a lot of effort for me to lie well—so there'd better be a damn good reason why I'm doing it."

"Can't you just thank me and get over it?"

"Thank you." I waited, expectant.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"Nope. No way."

"In that case... I hope you enjoy disappointment."

We scowled at each other in silence. I was the first to speak, trying to keep myself focused. I was in danger of being distracted by his livid, glorious face. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel. God dammit.

"Why did you even bother?" I asked, suddenly and wholly drained. Why did I have to care so much about whys? About what he did and felt and thought.

He paused, and for a brief moment his stunning face was unexpectedly vulnerable.

"I don't know," he whispered.

And then he turned his back on me and walked away.

I swiped at an itch on my cheek and found a tear. I wondered how it had got there. It took me a few minutes until I could move. When I could walk, I made my way slowly to the exit at the end of the hallway.

The waiting room was more unpleasant than I'd feared. It seemed like every face I knew in Forks was there, staring at me. Charlie rushed to my side; I put up my hands.

"There's nothing wrong with me," I assured him sullenly. I was still running on fumes, not able to do chitchat.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Dr. Cullen saw me, and he said I was fine and I could go home." I sighed. Mike and Jessica and Eric were all there, beginning to converge on us. "Let's go," I urged.

Charlie brought up an arm, not quite touching my shoulder to guide me, and we walked that way to the glass doors of the exit. I waved sluggishly at my friends, hoping to convey that they didn't need to worry anymore. It was a huge relief—for the first and last time—to get into the cruiser.

We drove in silence. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I barely knew Charlie was there. I was positive that Edward's defensive behavior in the hall was a confirmation of the bizarre things I still could hardly believe I'd witnessed.

When we got to the house, Charlie finally spoke.

"Um... you'll need to call Renée." He hung his head, guilty.

I finally found some kind of emotion, and what I pulled out of the bag was vivid anger. "You told Mom!?"

"Sorry."

I slammed the cruiser's door much harder than necessary on my way out.

My mom was in hysterics, of course. I had to tell her I felt fine at least thirty times before she would calm down. She begged me to come home, tempting me so badly that it was a physical discomfort—both of us forgetting for a moment that home was an empty shell now—but I resisted. No matter the confusion and pain and feelings involved, I was consumed by the mystery Edward presented. And more than a little obsessed by Edward himself. Which was so, so, stupid. I wasn't as eager to escape Forks as I should be, as any normal, sane person would be. And I finally confessed to my mom what I’d been feeling, what I’d kept trapped, a tight little ball in my throat, since yesterday. I didn’t have to hide this from her.

When I was done I felt lighter, and clearer, and still confused and angry and numb as all hell, but more okay with all of those things, because my mom knew my story again, at least the gist of it, and she still liked the plot. I decided I might as well go to bed early that night. Charlie continued to watch me anxiously, and it was beginning to get on my nerves. I stopped in to grab three Tylenol from the bathroom before turning in. They did help, and, as the pain went away, I was finally able to find what I hoped would be comfort in sleep.

That was the first night I dreamed of Edward Cullen. 


	5. Invitations

In my dream it was very dark, and what dim light there was seemed to be radiating from Edward's skin. I couldn't see his face, just his back as he walked away from me, leaving me alone in the black. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn't catch up to him; no matter how loud I called, he never turned. It would have pissed me off when I was awake. In my dream I was forlorn, abandoned. More troubled than my conscious mind would care to admit, I woke in the middle of the night and couldn't sleep again for what seemed like a very long time. After that, he was in my dreams almost every night, always on the periphery, never within reach.

The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and, at first, really really embarrassing.

To my dismay, I found myself the center of attention for the rest of that week. Tyler Crowley was impossible, following me around, obsessed with making amends to me somehow. I tried to convince her that what I wanted more than anything else was for her to forget all about it—especially since nothing had actually happened to me—but she remained annoyingly persistent. She followed me between classes, making Mike scowl more, and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. It seemed as though I'd gained another fan. Yippee.

No one seemed concerned about Edward, though I explained over and over that he was the hero—how he had pulled me out of the way and had nearly been crushed, too. I tried to be convincing. Jessica, Mike, even Eric, everyone that I talked to was always quick to comment that they hadn't even seen him there till the van was pulled away.

I wondered to myself why no one else had seen him standing so far away before he was right beside me and stopping a van with his bare hands. Not knowing if I was more perturbed or ashamed, I realized the probable cause behind their lack of knowledge regarding his whereabouts—no one else was as aware of Edward as I always was now. No one else watched him the way I did. I was a sad sad excuse for a human being.

Edward was never surrounded by crowds of curious bystanders eager for his firsthand account. People avoided him as per usual. The Cullens and the Hales sat at the same table as always, not eating, talking only among themselves, being so conspicuously weird that my mind boggled at being the only one to notice. None of them, especially Edward, glanced my way anymore.

When he sat next to me in class, as far from me as the table would allow, he seemed totally unaware of my presence. Only now and then, when his fists would suddenly ball up—skin stretched even whiter over the bones—did I wonder if he wasn't quite as oblivious as he appeared. at least I could still induce a homicidal rage now and again. I hadn’t quite lost my touch.

He clearly wished he hadn't pulled me from the path of Tyler's van—there was no other conclusion I could come to as a reasonably intelligent social creature.

I wanted to talk to him, even though the idea also scared me to death and back again, and the day after the accident I tried. The last time I'd seen him, outside the ER, things had gotten complicated. There were feelings. I still was angry that he wouldn't trust me with the truth, even though I was keeping my part of the bargain flawlessly. Not to mention the fact that he’d rather I was dead now. But he had in fact saved my life, no matter how he'd done it, or how he felt afterward. And, overnight, the numb space in my chest at his words had come to life in the form of awed gratitude.

So I was willing to make nice. He was already seated, staring off into nothing, when I got to Biology. I sat down, expecting him to turn toward me. He showed no sign that he realized I was there.

"Edward," I said pleasantly, with a nod that I knew he’d be aware of, to show him that I was going to behave myself.

He turned his head a fraction toward me without meeting my gaze, nodded back once, and then looked the other way.

And that was the last contact I'd had with him, though he was there, a foot away from me, every weekday. I watched him sometimes—unable to stop myself—from a distance, just like the creepiest creeper, in the cafeteria or parking lot. In the halls. I watched as his golden eyes grew perceptibly darker day by day. But in class I ignored him as well as he ignored me. Better even. And I was miserable. And the dreams continued.

After my impromptu emotion-filled phone conversation the day of the accident, and despite my anemic attempts at lies, the space between the lines of my e-mails alerted Renée to my depression, and she called a few times, worried. I really did try to convince her that it was just the weather that had me down.

Mike, at least, was oddly pleased by the obvious coolness between me and my lab partner. The more Edward waxed indifferent, the more sunny she got, as if happy to realize that Edward’s indifference was for everyone after all. She grew more confident in what must have been an attempt to seduce me, sitting on the edge of my table to talk before Biology class started, and ignoring Edward as completely as he ignored us, sometimes with a little grin as she did so. I still didn’t know how to extricate myself without catastrophic damage.

The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. Mike was disappointed that she'd never gotten to stage her snowball fight but pleased that the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued heavily, though, of course, and the weeks passed.

Jessica made me aware of another event looming on the horizon—she called the first Tuesday of March to ask whether she should or shouldn’t try to invite Mike to the girls' choice spring dance in two weeks. She was asking my permission and my opinion, and the fact that she would come to me to help untangle something that was such a big deal caused a little flare of protective warmth in my chest. We ended up going over it for half the night.

"Are you sure you don't mind... you weren't planning to ask her?" she persisted when I told her I didn't mind in the least.

"No, Jess, I'm not going," I assured her. Dancing was definitely one of those things outside my range of abilities.

"Are you sure? It will be really fun. Maybe if we went as a group? Okay, I just have to breathe. Why would I pick a dance of all things. I mean, I’ve known her forever. I get the vibe she likes me likes me. But a dance? I’m an idiot." Her ongoing debate with herself would have actually been adorable if she wasn’t freaking out so hard, especially over something that struck so close to home for me. At least a hundred times I thought about revealing my embarrassing Edward secret, but it wasn’t the time. Tonight, she needed her problem solved. Mine could keep.

"I’ve seen the way Mike looks at you, and the way you two mesh. She likes you. I just don’t know if she knows it yet, you know? It’ll be good to get something like this out in the open, whatever happens. You guys are friends even if you can’t be more. Either she’ll say no and you’ll feel better for having at least tried, or she’ll say yes and you guys will have fun at the dance. Win win," I encouraged. She continued the debate, and even asked for my input every now and then.

The next day, I was worried when Jessica wasn't her usual gushing self in Trig and Spanish. She was silent as she walked by my side between classes, and I was afraid to ask her why. Had Mike turned her down? Had my advice been terrible after all?

My fears were strengthened during lunch when Jessica sat as far from Mike as possible, chatting animatedly with Eric. Mike was unusually quiet.

Mike was still quiet as she walked with me to class, the uncomfortable look on her face a bad sign. But she didn't broach whatever subject was clearly on her mind until I was in my seat and she was perched on my desk. As always now apparently, I was electrically aware of Edward sitting close enough to touch and yet as distant as if he were merely an invention of my imagination.

"So," Mike said, looking at the floor, "Jessica asked me to the spring dance."

"That's great." I made my voice bright and enthusiastic. "I’ve seen you two when you’re together. You'll have a lot of fun with Jessica."

"Well..." She floundered as she examined my smile, clearly not happy with my response. "It’s kind of out of the blue. And she’s. . . I mean, I hadn’t even. . . I told her I had to think about it."

"It does seem kind of sudden, but then again, who knows. You guys have known each other forever, right? What, you don’t like her like that?” I kept my tone neutral, hoping to God that this would work out, solving my problem and Jessica’s in one fell swoop. It was encouraging that she hadn't given Jessica an absolute no.

Her face was bright red as he looked down again. Damn. This was about me. Pity mixed with desperation in the region of my stomach, which felt like it was on the spin cycle.

"It wasn’t just—I mean it was, but, well I was actually wondering if... well, if  _ you _ wanted to go with me."

I paused for a moment, hating that this was happening. Hating that it was happening now, when I hadn’t yet figured it out, and in front of Edward. From the corner of my eye, I saw his head tilt in my direction. Awesome.

"Mike, I think you should tell her yes," I said, hating myself for my bluntness. “I might seem like the easy choice, and you may really like me, but I’ve seen the way you look at Jessica. Pretty sure you like her too. More importantly, I’ve seen the way she looks at you. Everyone deserves someone who looks at them like that, you know?”

She was quiet for a moment. "And you don’t look? At me, I mean. Not like that?" Did Mike’s eyes flick in Edward’s direction? Did Edward notice how Mike's eyes flickered in his direction? Had I been that obvious? Who else knew? I needed to forcefully shut down the buzz of panic to remind myself to breathe.

"It’d probably be easier on both of us if I did, huh?" I said, voice only shaking a little, giving her the sad wilted half of a smile that was answer enough to her unasked question. She matched me smile for smile. I redirected the conversation after letting the moment rest for a bit. It had gone better than I could have hoped so far. "As far as the dance goes, I’m not going to that at all."

"Why not?" Mike asked, genuinely interested, though still a bit distracted.

I didn't feel like delving into the safety hazards that dancing presented when mixed with me, so I quickly made new plans.

"I'm going to Seattle that Saturday," I explained. I needed to get out of town anyway—it was suddenly the perfect time to go.

"You can’t go some other weekend? The dance is...well it’s the dance, you know?"

"I have to make a hit for the mob," I said, letting the conversation lighten naturally. "You know how they are with their strict scheduling. Can’t be helped.” I paused, shrugging, and waited for her eyes to meet mine hesitantly, the smile still on her face from my joke. “So you shouldn't make Jess wait any longer."

Her smile stayed in place, fitting well on her face. "Yeah, you're right," she said softly, turning, and throwing me one more glimpse of her smile over her shoulder, walking back to her seat. I closed my eyes, letting the relief over how well that had gone wash over me. Mr. Banner began talking. I sighed and, feeling lighter than I had in weeks, opened my eyes.

Edward was there, and oh, look who was staring at me curiously—that same, familiar edge of frustration even more distinct now in his black eyes.

I stared back, mostly out of surprise, expecting him to look quickly away. Instead he continued to gaze with probing intensity into my eyes. Well. This was a development, now, wasn’t it? There was no question of me looking away. I swallowed reflexively.

"Mr. Cullen?" the teacher called, looking for the answer to a question that I hadn't heard.

Saved.

"The Krebs Cycle," Edward answered, seeming reluctant as he turned to look at Mr. Banner.

I looked down at my book as soon as his eyes released me, trying to find my place and failing spectacularly. I couldn't believe the rush of emotion pulsing through me—just because he'd happened to look at me for the first time in a half-dozen weeks. I couldn't allow him to have this level of influence over me. It was pathetic. More than pathetic.

I tried very hard not to be aware of him for the rest of the hour, and, since that was impossible, at least not to let him know that I was aware of him. When the bell rang at last, I turned my back to him to gather my things, expecting him to leave immediately as usual.

"Beau?" His voice really shouldn't have sounded so familiar to me, as if I'd known the timbre of it my whole life rather than a few measly weeks.

I turned slowly, not willing to move any faster. I didn't want to feel what I knew I would feel when I looked at his too-perfect face. My expression was wary when I finally turned to him; his expression was unreadable. He didn't say anything.

"What? You’re talking to me again?" I finally asked, voice harsher than I would have gone for if I’d thought to plan my words out ahead of time.

His lips twitched, fighting a smile. "No, not really," he admitted.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and inhaled slowly, eyes closed, aware that I was gritting my teeth. Again. How did he know where all my buttons were? Who’d given him my manual? 

He waited, patiently.

"Seriously?” I fought a glare from forming, letting out a breath to rid myself of that exasperated tone. Not expecting for one moment any kind of real explanation, I asked him what I wanted to know anyway. “What do you want, Edward?" 

I kept my eyes closed; it was much easier to talk to him coherently that way.

"I'm sorry." 

He sounded sincere. 

"I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really."

That made me open my eyes. His face seemed properly serious.

"How better?" I asked, curious and a little angry about it. I kept my voice guarded; my eyes mostly averted.

"It's better if we're not friends," he explained. "Trust me."

My eyes narrowed. Trust him. Right.

"Too bad you didn't figure that out earlier, huh?" I said through locked teeth. "Could have saved yourself all this regret." The emotions of the day of the accident were starting to seep back in. I stopped myself from rubbing the deadened spot in my chest where he’d maimed me.

"Regret?" The word, and my tone, obviously caught him off guard. "Regret for what?"

"For not letting me die when you had the chance."

He was astonished. So was I, if I was being honest with myself. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He stared at me in disbelief.

When he finally spoke, he sounded like he was teetering on the edge between angry and incredulous. "You think I regret saving your life?"

"It sure seems like you do," I snapped.

"You don't know anything." He’d fallen firmly over the edge and right into anger.

I turned my head sharply away from him, clenching my jaw against all the wild accusations I wanted to hurl. I gathered my books together, then stood and walked to the door. I meant to let my deliberate stalk out of the room speak for me, but of course I caught the toe of my boot on the door jamb and dropped my books. Damn damn damn. I stood there for a moment, thinking about just leaving them. Were they really worth it? I sighed and bent to pick them up. He was there, of course; he'd already stacked them into a tidy pile. He handed them silently to me, his face hard.

"Thank you ever so," I said icily.

His eyes narrowed.

"You're welcome," he retorted.

I straightened up swiftly, turned away from him again, and stalked off to Gym without looking back.

Gym was brutal. We'd moved on to basketball. My team never passed me the ball, so that was good, but I fell down a lot, so that was bad. Sometimes I took people with me—also, for the record, on the side of not good. Today I was worse than usual because my head was so filled with Edward. I tried to concentrate on my feet, but he kept creeping back into my thoughts just when I really needed my balance.

It was a relief, as always, to leave. I almost ran to the truck; I thought better of it, but there were just so many people I wanted to avoid. The truck had suffered only minimal damage in the accident. I'd had to replace the taillights, and if I'd had a real paint job, I’d have touched that up. Tyler's parents had to sell their van for parts. I liked my truck.

I almost had a stroke when I rounded the corner and saw a tall, dark figure leaning against the side of my truck. Then I realized it was just Eric. I offered my stroke a raincheck and started walking again.

"Hey, Eric," I called.

"Hi, Beau."

"What's up?" I asked, unlocking the door. I wasn't paying attention to the uncomfortable edge in his voice, so his next words took me by surprise.

"Uh, I was just wondering... do you talk much with Angela?" His voice broke on the last word.

"Yeah, I guess, I mean, at lunch, where we all talk to each other," I said, too frazzled to make much sense.

"Right, yeah," he mumbled, shamefaced.

I recovered my composure and tried to make my smile warm. "You want her to ask you to the dance?"

"You could say that, and it would be totally true, yes." he said, and trailed off, embarrassed. I realized that we had never really talked much. Now, I wondered why. It was probably my fault. Most things were, it seemed. I also, on a related tangent, wondered what about Forks made me seem so socially acceptable. "Want me to drop a few subtle hints to her?" I stage whispered, conspiratorially.

“Yes please. I mean, I would, but I’m a total coward.”

“Girls make cowards of us all, my friend. But I’ll brave it for you, since you asked so nice, and you’ll just have to owe me. Big time.”

“Thanks, man. Yeah, whatever you need, seriously. I doubt she’ll ask me, even with your help. Just thought it was worth a shot.” He looked so downtrodden that I wished I knew what to say to boost his optimism, but I wasn’t about to promise anything where a girl was concerned. He slouched off, back toward the school and just when I was turning to get in my truck a low chuckle stopped me.

Edward was walking past the front of my truck, looking straight forward, his lips pressed together. I yanked the door open and jumped inside, slamming it loudly behind me. I revved the engine deafeningly and reversed out into the aisle. Edward was in his car already, two spaces down, sliding out smoothly in front of me, cutting me off. He stopped there—to wait for his family; I could see the four of them walking this way, but still by the cafeteria. I considered taking out the rear of his shiny Volvo, but there were too many witnesses. I looked in my rearview mirror. A line was beginning to form. Directly behind me, Tyler Crowley was in her recently-acquired used Sentra, waving. I was too aggravated to acknowledge her.

While I was sitting there, looking everywhere but at the car in front of me, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. I looked over; it was Tyler. I glanced back in my rearview mirror, confused. Her car was still running, the door left open. I leaned across the cab to crank the window down. It was stiff. I got it halfway down, then gave up, knowing when I’d been bested.

"Hey, sorry Tyler, I'm stuck behind Cullen." I was annoyed enough to call him Cullen now, that was new. I gestured to the shiny obstacle ahead—obviously the holdup wasn't my fault.

"Oh, I know—I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here." She grinned.

It took a moment to register, but when it did I nearly slammed my head against the steering wheel out of sheer exasperation. This could not be happening.

"Will you go with me to the spring dance?" she continued.

"I'm not going to be in town, Tyler." My voice sounded a little sharp. I had to remember it wasn't her fault that realizing I was attracted to Cullen—still annoying—had apparently made me miraculously irresistible to the fairer sex.

"Yeah, Mike said that," she admitted.

"Then why—"

She shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting her down easy."

Okay, it was completely her fault.

"Well, I wasn’t," I said, working to hide my irritation. "I’m really going out of town."

"That's cool. We still have prom."

And before I could respond, she was walking back to her car. I couldn’t even pretend to feel shocked; weirdness seemed so inevitable at this point. I looked forward to see Alice, Rosalie, Emmett and Jasper all sliding into the Volvo. In his rearview mirror, Edward's eyes were on me. He was unquestionably shaking with laughter, as if he'd heard every word Tyler had said. My foot inched toward the gas pedal... one little bump wouldn't hurt any of them, just that glossy silver paint job. I revved the engine.

But they were all in, and Edward was speeding away. I drove home slowly, deliberately, muttering to myself the whole way.

When I got home, I decided to make chicken enchiladas for dinner. It was a long process, and it would keep my hands busy, hopefully working out some of the overwhelming urge to strangle something. While I was simmering the onions and chilies, the phone rang. I was not in the mood to answer it, but it might be Charlie or my mom.

It was Jessica, and she was jubilant; Mike had caught her after school to accept her invitation. I celebrated with her briefly while I stirred. She had to go, she wanted to call Angela and Tyler to tell them. I suggested—with casual innocence—that maybe Angela could ask Eric. And Tyler could ask Logan, a standoffish boy who had always ignored me at the lunch table; I'd heard earlier in the day that he was still available, and I’d seen them talking a lot. Jess thought that was a great idea. She said again that she wished I would go to the dance. I told her not to test my loyalty to the mob. Mike must have explained my commitment to them, because she laughed.

After I hung up, I tried to concentrate on dinner—dicing the chicken especially; I didn't want to force cannibalism on my own father. But the gears in my head were spinning, trying to analyze every word Edward had spoken today. What did he mean, it was better if we weren't friends?

My stomach twisted as I realized what he must have meant. He must see how obsessed I was with him; and obviously he didn’t want to give me the chance to get the wrong idea ... so we couldn't even be friends... because he wasn't interested in me at all.

Of course he wasn't interested in me, I thought angrily, my eyes stinging—totally a delayed reaction to the onions, by the way. I mean, aside from the obvious fact that I had the wrong parts to interest him, I wasn't exactly interesting personality-wise either. And he was. Interesting...and brilliant...and mysterious...and aggravatingly perfect...and, god help me I thought he was beautiful in the least girly use of the word possible... also, he was possibly able to lift full-sized vans with one hand, so there was that. Oh, there was that.

I concentrated on not slicing off a finger again.

Well, that was fine. I could leave him alone. I  _ would  _ leave him alone. I’d get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory, and then hopefully some school in the Southwest, or possibly Hawaii would take me. Somewhere warm. Some college where I could be attracted to all the guys I wanted to be, since that was apparently my new thing. I’d get a nice fat scholarship and go be gay somewhere else. I focused my thoughts on sunny beaches and palm trees, conjuring up hot girls in skimpy bikinis in the vague hope that Edward had just been a really short phase, as I finished the enchiladas and put them in the oven.

Charlie seemed suspicious when he came home and smelled the green peppers and spices. I couldn't blame him—the closest edible Mexican food was probably in southern California. But he was a cop, even if just a small-town cop, so he was brave enough to take the first bite. He seemed to like it. It was fun to watch him slowly trust me not to poison him.

"Dad?" I asked when he was almost done.

"Yeah, Beau?"

"Um, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to Seattle for the day a week from Saturday... if that's okay?" I tacked the question on the end out of a sense of awkward obligation. I didn't want to ask permission—it set a bad precedent.

"Why?" He sounded surprised, as if he were unable to imagine something that Forks couldn't offer.

"Books is why—the library here is kind of sad. Plus, I need warmer clothes." I had more money than I was used to having, since, thanks to Charlie, I hadn't had to pay for a car. Not that the truck didn't guzzle gas like a frat boy guzzles beer.

"That truck probably doesn't get very good gas mileage," he said, echoing my thoughts.

"Yeah, I'll stop in Montesano and Olympia—Tacoma too if I’ve got to."

"Are you going all by yourself?" he asked, and I couldn't tell if he was suspicious I had a secret girlfriend—if only—or just worried about car trouble.

"Yeah?"

"Seattle is a big city—you could get lost," he fretted.

"Lost? Dad, Phoenix is five times the size of Seattle. And I can read a map. And I’m not five. Don't worry about it."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"Looking through book stores and clothes shopping all day? I didn’t take you for a masochist."

"On second thought, you’ll be fine. I trust you, son."

"Gee whizz, thanks Dad." I said heartily, elbowing him conspiratorially and sharing a smile as I rose to clear the dishes.

"Will you be back in time for the dance?"

Sigh. Only in a town this small would a father know when the high school dances were.

"Nope—I don't do dancing, Dad." He, of all people, should understand that—I didn't get my balance problems from my mother.

He immediately understood. "Oh, that's right," he realized.

The next morning, when I pulled into the parking lot, I deliberately parked as far as possible from the silver Volvo. I didn't want to put myself in the path of too much temptation and end up owing him a new car. Getting out of the cab, I fumbled with my key and it fell into a puddle at my feet. As I bent to get it, a white hand flashed out and grabbed it before I could. I jerked to standing on reflex. Edward Cullen was right next to me, leaning casually against my truck. I cocked my head to the side, again, a reflex. One that I was quick to correct.

"How do you do that?" I asked in irritated amazement.

"Do what?" He held my key out as he spoke. As I reached for it, he dropped it into my palm.

"Appear out of thin air."

"Beau, it's not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant." His voice was quiet as usual—velvet, muted, sexy. Shit.

I scowled at his perfect face, and noticed that his eyes were light again today, a deep, golden honey. I looked away, reassembling my now-tangled thoughts.

"Why the traffic jam yesterday?" I grumbled, still looking away. "I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don't exist, not irritating me to death."

"That was for Tyler's sake, not mine. I had to give her a fair chance." He snickered.

"You..." I began, not knowing where I was going after that first word. The English language didn’t hold the words for what he was. He only seemed more amused at my conundrum.

"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," he continued.

"So we’re going for death by irritation? Since you so unwisely stopped Tyler's van from doing the job?"

Anger flashed in his tawny eyes. His lips pressed into a hard line, all signs of humor gone.

"Beau, you are so utterly absurd," he said, his low voice cold.

My fists clenched—I wanted so badly to hit something; preferably him. A year ago I wouldn’t have thought that anything could make me feel this intensely. I was usually so apathetic. Instead of decking him, like he was begging for, I turned my back and started to walk away.

"Wait," he called. I kept walking, sloshing as angrily as sloshing would allow. But he was next to me, easily keeping pace.

"I'm sorry. That was rude," he said as we walked. I ignored him. "I'm not saying it isn't true," he continued, "but it was rude to say it, anyway."

“You are so not working your way out of the hole,” I grumbled. “What do you want, anyway?”

"I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me," he chuckled. He seemed to have recovered his good humor.

"Do you have some kind of personality disorder that I should be aware of?" I asked severely.

"You're doing it again."

I sighed. "Fine. Ask.”

"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday—you know, the day of the spring dance—"

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” I interrupted, wheeling toward him, then angrily fixing my hood from the position into which it had just twisted so that I could glare at him properly.

His eyes were wickedly amused. "Will you please allow me to finish?"

I bit my cheek and clasped my hands together behind my back, interlocking my fingers, so they couldn't do anything rash.

"I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride."

Well, that was unexpected. I reacted accordingly.

"What?" I wasn't sure what he was playing at now, but I was pretty sure it didn’t bode well for me.

"Do you want a ride to Seattle?"

“From you?" I asked, mystified.

"Obviously." He enunciated every syllable, as if he were trying to communicate with someone who was rather severely mentally handicapped.

I was still stunned. "Why?"

"Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks in any event, and, to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it."

"My truck works just fine, thank you so  _ very _ much for your concern." I started to walk again, but I was too thrown to maintain the same intensity of angry sloshing.

"But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?" He matched my pace again.

“My gas mileage, along with my sign, my medical history, and my social security number, are none of your business." Insufferably self-righteous shiny Volvo owner.

"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business."

“Okay, I’m being completely serious with you now, Captain Planet." I felt a happy bolt of victory at his momentary frown. “I’m so done with your mood swings. I thought you didn't want to be my friend."

"I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."

"Oh, right, cause that isn’t confusing at all,” I muttered, my voice positively dripping with sarcasm. I realized I had stopped walking again. We were under the shelter of the cafeteria roof now, so I could pull my hood off and consequently get a better look at his face. Which wasn’t really the best idea I’d ever had, since I wasn’t done talking yet.

"It would be more... prudent for you not to be my friend," he explained. "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Beau."

His eyes were intense as he uttered that last sentence, his voice rougher. Or was it just my ears malfunctioning? In any event, I’d forgotten how to breathe, which had to be dealt with.

"Will you go with me to Seattle?" he asked, at the same intensity.

I couldn't speak yet, still working on the oxygen acquisition problem, so I just nodded.

He smiled briefly, and then his face became serious.

"You really should stay away from me," he warned. Then he leaned in closer. "Breathe, Beau,” he said, half husky whisper wrapped in a smug smile. “I'll see you in class."

He turned abruptly and walked back the way we'd come.

A familiar bolt of annoyance shocked my lungs back into functioning order.


	6. Blood Type

I made my way to English in a daze. I didn't even realize when I first walked in that class had already started.

"Thank you for joining us, Mr. Swan," Mr. Mason said in a disparaging tone.

I almost told him you’re welcome, reverting to habit, my mind elsewhere. Almost. I clamped my mouth firmly shut and hurried to my seat.

Mike and Eric met me at the door after class as usual, Mike waxing enthusiastic over the weather report for this weekend. The rain was supposed to lay off for a few seconds and so maybe her beach trip would be possible. I tried to sound eager. It was hard; rain or no rain, it would still only be in the high forties, if we were lucky.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was difficult to believe that I hadn't just imagined what Edward had said, the way his eyes had looked or his voice had sounded scraping roughly over me. Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I'd confused with reality. That seemed more probable than a scenario where I appealed to him on any level.

So I was impatient and worried in equal parts as Jessica and I entered the cafeteria. I wanted to see his face, to see if he'd gone back to the cold, indifferent person I'd known for the last several weeks. Or if, somehow, I'd really heard what I thought I'd heard this morning. Jessica talked on and on, viciously excited about her dance plans—Tyler and Angela had asked the other boys and they were all going together—completely unaware of my distraction.

Disappointment hit me as my eyes automatically focused on his table. The other four were there, but he was absent. Had he gone home? I followed the still-animated Jessica through the line, apathetic once more. I'd lost my appetite—bought a bottle of lemonade and had to talk myself into that. I’d just sit and have a nice long sulk. Nothing like a good sulk. I realized what a strange word sulk was and pondered that for a moment, rolling it around in my head. 

Sulk.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you again," Jessica said, watching my face carefully afterwards and seeming to find something in my startled and—beyond my ability to hide—hopeful reaction, his name instantly breaking through my abstraction. "I wonder why he's sitting alone today.”

My head snapped up. I followed her gaze to see Edward, smiling crookedly, staring at me from an empty table across the cafeteria from where he usually sat. Once he'd caught my eye, he raised one hand and waved, then crooked his index finger for me to join him. As I stared in disbelief, he winked. He actually winked. I looked around quickly to gauge how many people had just seen.

"Does he mean  _ you _ ?" Jessica asked with astonishment in her voice. “Is this a thing, Beau? This is a thing and you didn’t tell me?”

"Maybe he needs help with his Biology homework," I muttered. She gave me an incredulous look.

“Yeah, because nothing says ‘can you help with my Biology homework’ like a wink.” She paused, rethinking that. “Actually—”

“Shhhhhh.” I got up, ignoring her giggle. I always forgot how strong she was in the way of sarcasm—my one equal in this godforsaken town. Risking a quick glance back to Edward, I cleared my throat and almost tripped over my chair. Almost. “Um, yeah,” I said, swallowing and trying to find my voice again; pushing my chair safely in. “Right. I’d better go see what he wants, then.”

“We will have a painfully detailed discussion about keeping things from friends later.” Jess said, glaring. “You do realize this?”

I nodded absently. Could feel her staring after me as I walked away.

When I reached his table, I stood behind the chair across from him, unsure if I wanted to stay, unsure how to leave now that I’d come.

"Sit with me today?" he asked, smiling sincerely.

So I sat, watching him with caution. He was still smiling. It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could be real. I had the uncanny suspicion that he would disappear in a sudden puff of smoke any second, and that I would wake up.

He seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

"This is…unexpected,” I finally managed.

"Well..." He paused, and then the rest of the words followed in a rush. "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."

Now I waited, patiently, for him to say something more, maybe something that made sense. The seconds ticked by. Nothing.

"You know I haven’t a clue what you mean, right?” I eventually had to ask.

"I know." He smiled again, indulgently, and then he changed the subject. "I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you."

"Probably not angry. Probably more like incredulous. Flabbergasted even.” I could feel their stares boring into my back.

"I may not give you back, though," he said with a wicked glint in his eyes.

Ohhhh. Well that wasn’t fair.

“He says, as if I’m property,” I mumbled to myself, trying to push down the traitorous response my body had to those words paired with that stare, words spoken like he’d spoken them, all husky and warm and passing through that grin. And in public, no less.

I shifted in my seat.

He laughed. "You look worried."

“Worried wouldn’t be the word that I would use," I said, but, ridiculously, my voice broke. “I think I’m a little flabbergasted myself... what brought on all the rapey subtext?"

He gave me a disapproving look but remained otherwise unruffled. “Rape." He scoffed. “I told you—I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." He was still smiling, but his ocher eyes were serious.

"Giving up?" I repeated, trying to coax more out of him.

"Yes—giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now and let the chips fall where they may." His smile faded as he explained, and a hard edge crept into his voice.

“Is it weird that I understood what you said just now completely?”

The breathtaking crooked smile reappeared.

"I doubt that, but soon enough… I always say too much when I'm talking to you—that's one of the problems."

"Don't worry—apparently I don't really understand any of it," I said wryly.

"I'm counting on that."

"So, in English, we’re, what, friends now?"

"Friends..." he mused, dubious.

"Or not. I mean, there were the death glares, so we could be enemies, and then there was all that blatant sexual innuendo, so there’s that option. We’ll have to see if there’s any wooing to follow, I love a good wooing,” I rambled.

He grinned. "Well, we can try, I suppose. To be friends,” he clarified, grinning wider. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you." Behind his smile, I could tell that the warning was real.

"You say that a lot," I noted, nodding and trying to ignore the impromptu gymnastics class in my stomach.

"Yes, because you're not listening to me. I'm still waiting for you to believe it. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."

"I think you've made your opinion on the subject of my intellect abundantly clear, as well." My eyes narrowed.

He smiled apologetically.

"So, as long as I'm being... not smart, we'll try to be friends?" I struggled to sum up the confusing exchange.

"That sounds about right."

I looked down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do now.

"What are you thinking?" he asked curiously.

I looked up into his deep gold eyes, and, as usual, blurted out the truth.

"I'm trying to figure you out. But less with the who you are at this point than the what you are."

His jaw tightened, but he kept his smile in place with some effort.

"Are you having any luck with that?" he asked in an offhand tone.

"Not so much, no,” I admitted.

He chuckled. "What are your theories?"

I contemplated keeping my mouth shut. I had been vacillating during the last month between Bruce Wayne and Peter Parker. There was no way I was going to own up to that.

"Won't you tell me?" he asked, tilting his head to one side with a shockingly tempting smile.

I shook my head. “Probably not. I’m sadistic that way. Big fan of torturing myself.”

"That's really frustrating, you know," he complained.

"No," I uttered sarcastically, my eyes narrowing, "I can't imagine why that would be frustrating at all—someone refusing to tell you what they're thinking, throwing out these cryptic little remarks like breadcrumbs that keep you up at night wondering what this person could possibly mean. Why would anyone find that frustrating?"

He grimaced.

“But wait, there’s more,” I continued, the pent-up annoyance flowing freely now, “because this person does all manner of weird things—like saving your life impossibly one day, then treating you like you have leprosy the next, and he never explains any of it, after swearing to explain all of it. Those are also things that are not frustrating in the slightest."

"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?"

“Maybe. Wanna fight about it?”

We stared at each other, unsmiling.

He glanced over my shoulder, and then, unexpectedly, he snickered.

"What?"

"Your girlfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you—she's debating whether or not to come break up our fight." He snickered again.

“Which one?” I asked, almost curious. “And how can you be so egotistical as to claim to know what one of my many super-hot girlfriends are thinking?”

He didn’t take the bait. "I told you,” he said, shifting his eyes back to me seriously, “most people are easy to read."

"Except for me, of course."

"Yes. Except for you." His mood shifted suddenly; his eyes thoughtful. "I wonder why that is."

I had to look away from the intensity of his stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took my first swig, staring at the table without seeing it.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, distracted.

"No." I hadn’t even thought about food. Something my body would no doubt punish me for later. "You?" I looked at the empty table in front of him.

"No, I'm not hungry." I didn't understand his expression—it looked like he was enjoying some private joke.

“Would you do me a favor?" I asked, giving in after a second of hesitation.

He was suddenly wary. "That depends on what you want."

"It's not much," I assured him.

He waited, guarded but curious.

"I just wondered... if you could give me a heads up beforehand, you know, the next time you feel the urge to ignore me for my own good. Just so that I can do the proper mental reshuffling at my leisure. Plus side for you is that this request also means that you won’t have to witness my gawk-face nearly so often." I looked at the lemonade bottle as I spoke, spinning its cap idly on the table.

"That sounds fair." He was pressing his lips together to keep from laughing when I looked up.

"I’m a fair guy," I said, ignoring his amusement.

"Then, in the spirit of fairness, can I have one answer in return?" he demanded.

"One."

"Tell me one theory."

Whoops. "Not that one."

"You didn't qualify, you just promised one answer," he reminded me.

"Oh, we’re keeping promises now? I hadn’t been informed of the change," I reminded him back.

"Just one theory—I won't laugh."

"Oh, you want to bet?" I was tempted to throw out the most bizarre thing to pop into my head just to prove him wrong.

He looked down, and then glanced up at me through his long black lashes, his ocher eyes scorching, seeming lit from within.

"Please?" he breathed, leaning toward me.

I blinked, my mind going blank. Cheater.

"I call shenanigans," I interjected, still half dazed. A creeping anxiety had started to work its way up my spine as I realized how in public I was, and how obvious I must be in my attraction, for Edward to know enough to resort to blatant flirting as psychological warfare. I was suddenly glad of the fact that the only thing roiling around in my stomach was lemonade. Acidy acidy lemonade.

"Please tell me just one little theory." His eyes still smoldered at me. Yeah, you heard that right, they freakin’ smoldered, the terrorist.

"Fine,” I grumbled, nonplussed. “Bitten by a radioactive spider." Terrorism was apparently an effective tactic against me.

"That's not very creative," he scoffed. “I can tell your heart isn’t really in this.”

"Is your spidey sense tingling?” I asked, straight faced, deciding to lob a grenade back his way. Two could play at this game. “That's all a little bit of flirting is going to get you at any rate, Casanova. You’ll have to up the ante to flowers and poetry if you want to stay in the game now. Or maybe a puppy, puppies are romantic, right?” I sighed dramatically at the look of bewilderment on his face. “Isn’t it a shame how quickly these conflicts escalate?" I shook my head slowly in sad contemplation of the futility of war, throwing in a tut for good measure.

He contemplated me quizzically.

"So you’re not tingling?" I asked.

"No."

I smiled, happy he had followed along and was even willing to play. “I can rule out radioactivity entirely then?"

"I believe that you would be safe to do so."

"Interesting.” Well that ruled out a lot.

"Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," he chuckled.

"You're not supposed to laugh, remember? There were promises."

He struggled to compose his face.

"I will solve you," I warned him.

"I wish you wouldn't try." He was serious again.

"Because...?"

He was quiet for a moment, not meeting my eye, contemplative. He seemed to reach a decision.

"What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad guy?" Then he smiled playfully, incongruously, his eyes impenetrable.

"Oh," I said, as several things he'd hinted fell suddenly into place. "I see."

"Do you?" His face was abruptly severe, as if he were afraid that he'd accidentally said too much.

"You're dangerous?" I guessed, my pulse quickening as I realized the truth of my own words. He was dangerous. He'd been trying to tell me that all along. And I’d known it all along. I’d just brushed it aside as unimportant. Now, I acknowledged its importance.

He looked at me, seemingly in answer, eyes full of some emotion I couldn't comprehend but could feel out the blurry edges of.

"But not bad," I whispered, shaking my head, feeling just as strongly the truth of that. "No, not bad."

"You're wrong." His voice was almost inaudible. He looked down, stealing my bottle lid and then spinning it on the table himself. I stared at him, knowing that he believed what he’d just said utterly, and wondering why I still didn't feel any fear. I just felt anxious, on edge, like I always felt in his presence; half electrified, my senses almost superhuman in their attempt to perceive as much of him as possible... and, more than anything else, I was fascinated.

The silence that followed lasted until I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.

I jumped to my feet. "Crap. We're going to be so late."

"I'm not going to class today," he said, twirling the lid so fast it was just a blur.

"You’re just blatantly skipping, all literally too cool for school?"

"It's healthy to ditch class now and then." He smiled up at me, but his eyes were still troubled.

"Well, as lame as it makes me, it seems that we are at an impasse, and so I fear that I must bid you, good sir, adieu." I wasn’t going to assume that he’d want any company in his mysterious maraudings.

He turned his attention back to the makeshift top that was my pilfered bottle cap. "I'll see you later, then."

I hesitated, studying the strange expression that he wore, but then the first bell sent me regretfully on my way—with a last glance confirming that he hadn't moved a centimeter.

As I half-ran to class, my gears were spinning faster than our bottle cap (was it weird to think of it as  _ our _ bottle cap?). So few questions had been answered and so many more were raised. At least—I saw, glancing out the window as I rushed by—the rain had stopped. So there was that.

I was lucky; Mr. Banner wasn't in the room yet when I arrived. I settled quickly into my seat, aware that both Mike and Angela were staring at me. Mike looked about to make fun of me; Angela looked surprised, and slightly awed.

Mr. Banner came in the room then, calling the class to order. He was juggling a few small cardboard boxes in his arms. He put them down on Mike's table, telling her to start passing them around to the class.

"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," he said as he produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his lab jacket and pulled them on. The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against his wrists seemed vaguely ominous. "The first should be an indicator card," he went on, grabbing a white card with four squares marked on it and displaying it. "The second is a four-pronged applicator—" he held up something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick "—and the third is a sterile micro-lancet." He held up a small piece of blue plastic and split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach dropped. Uh oh. This was so many kinds of not good.

"I'll be coming around with a dropper of water to prepare your cards, so please don't start until I get to you." He began at Mike's table again, carefully putting one drop of water in each of the four squares. "Then I want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet..." He grabbed Mike's hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of Mike's middle finger. Crap. And so it begins. Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead.

"Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs." He demonstrated, squeezing Mike's finger till the blood flowed. I swallowed convulsively, my stomach heaving. It was really getting a workout today.

"And then apply it to the card," he finished, holding up the wet red card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the ringing in my ears.

"The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your blood type." He sounded proud of himself. "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's permission—I have slips at my desk."

He continued through the room with his water drops. I gave up all my manly pride and put my cheek against the cool black tabletop trying, at least, to hold on to my consciousness. All around me I could hear squeals, complaints and giggles as my classmates skewered their fingers. I breathed slowly in and out through my mouth.

"Beau, are you all right?" Mr. Banner asked. His voice was close to my head, and it sounded alarmed.

"I already know my blood type, Mr. Banner," I said in a weak voice. I didn’t dare raise my head.

"Are you feeling faint?"

"Yes, sir," I muttered, internally kicking myself for not having Edward’s psychic ditching powers.

"Can someone take Beau to the nurse, please?" he called.

I didn't have to look up to know that it would be Mike who volunteered. It was good to have friends.

"Can you walk?" Mr. Banner asked.

"Yes," I whispered. _ Just let me get out of here _ , I thought,  _ I'll crawl _ .

Mike seemed to size me up for a moment, doing some mental physics, before putting her arm around my waist and pulling my arm over her shoulder. I leaned against her as little as I could manage out of pure stubborn pride and an unwillingness to squish her tiny frame on the way out of the classroom.

Mike steered me slowly across campus. When we were around the edge of the cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mr. Banner was watching, I stopped.

"Can I just sit for a minute? Regain a bit of dignity?”

She frowned but allowed me to plop onto the wet edge of the walk.

"And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I ordered. I was still so dizzy. I slumped over on my side, putting my cheek against the freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk, closing my eyes. That seemed to help a little.

"Wow, you're green, Beau. I didn’t know that actually happened outside of cartoons," Mike said, nervously trying to lighten the mood.

"Beau?" a different voice called from the distance.

Not good! Very very not good! For the first time in my life, I hoped I was hallucinating.

"What's wrong—is he hurt?" His voice was closer now, and he sounded upset. I wasn't hallucinating. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to die. Or, at the very least, not throw up.

Mike seemed to feel that by association with a doctor, Edward was more qualified to deal with the situation than she was. She also sounded worried, which made me all warm inside. "I think he's fainted. I don't know what happened, he didn't even stick his finger."

"Beau." Edward's voice was right beside me, relieved now. "Can you hear me?"

"Nope," I groaned. "Might as well go away."

He chuckled.

"I was taking him to the nurse," Mike explained, "but he wouldn't go any farther."

"I'll take him," Edward said. I could hear the smile still in his voice. "You can go back to class."

"Um, oh, right, yeah I’ll just... go," Mike stammered, the dismissal only half registering in her worry over me.

Suddenly the sidewalk disappeared from beneath me. My eyes flew open in shock. Edward had scooped me up in his arms, as easily as if my awkward gangly frame was a mere ten pounds.

"This is so not helping my manly pride. Down!"  _ Please, please don’t vomit on him. _ He was walking before I was finished complaining.

"Take it like a man, Swan!" Mike called, a laugh in her voice, and already ten paces behind us.

Edward surveyed me at close range and I forgot to be indignant for a beat. He walked easily, but kept a slow pace. "You look awful," he told me, grinning.

The grin helped me to remember.

"Put me back on the sidewalk," I moaned, seasick. The rocking movement of his walk was not helping. He held me away from his body, impossibly and gingerly, supporting all my not-insignificant bulk with just his arms—it didn't seem to bother him.

"So you faint at the sight of blood?" he asked. This seemed to entertain him.

I didn't answer. I closed my eyes again and fought the nausea with all my strength, clamping my lips together.

"And not even your own blood," he continued, enjoying himself.

I don't know how he opened the door while carrying me, but it was suddenly warm, so I knew we were inside. I refused to open my eyes.

"Oh my," I heard a female voice gasp.

"He fainted in Biology," Edward explained.

I gave in and opened my eyes. I was in the office, and Edward was striding past the front counter toward the nurse's door. Ms. Cope, the redheaded front office receptionist, ran ahead of him to hold it open. The grandmotherly nurse looked up from a novel, astonished, as Edward swung me into the room and placed me on the crackly paper that covered the brown vinyl mattress on the one cot. Then he moved to stand against the wall as far across the narrow room as possible. His eyes were bright; excited.

"He's just a little faint," he reassured the startled nurse. "They're blood typing in Biology."

The nurse nodded sagely. "There's always one."

Edward muffled a snicker. I wore a general glare for the world.

"Just lie down for a minute, hun; it'll pass."

"I know," I sighed. The nausea was already fading.

"Does this happen a lot?" she asked.

"More often than is good for my dignity," I admitted. Edward coughed to hide another laugh.

"You can go back to class now," she told Edward, colder. I liked her.

"I'm supposed to stay with him." He said this with such assured authority that—even though she pursed her lips—the nurse didn't argue it further.

"I'll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear," she said to me, and then bustled out of the room.

"Well, you were right," I grumbled, letting my eyes close.

"I usually am—but about what in particular this time?"

"Ditching is healthy." I practiced breathing evenly.

"You scared me for a minute there," he admitted after a pause. His tone made it sound like he was confessing a humiliating weakness. "I thought Newton was making a poor attempt at disposing of your butchered remains."

"Har-de-har." I still had my eyes closed, but I was feeling more normal every minute.

"Honestly—I've seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder."

"You’d feel the need to avenge me? My stars, what a gentleman," I declared, my southern belle making a sarcastic cameo appearance.

"Oh, most definitely. Mike was busy wondering if she’d have to clean up your vomit since she’d volunteered to escort you, though, when I arrived, so I was spared the difficulties," Edward said cheerfully.

"She was thinking that? You can't know that she was thinking that. And I was so not going to vomit," I argued, but then I wondered suddenly if he  _ could _ know.

"I saw her face—I could see it all there."

"How did you see me, though? If you were ditching." I was almost fine now, though the queasiness would have probably passed faster if I'd eaten anything for lunch. On the other hand, I may have been forced to vomit if I’d had anything of substance in my overworked stomach.

"I was in my car, listening to a CD." Such a normal response—it surprised me.

I heard the door and opened my eyes to see the nurse with a cold compress in her hand.

"Here we go, then." She laid it across my forehead. "You're looking better," she added.

"I think I'm fine now," I said, sitting up. Just a little ringing in my ears, no spinning. The mint green walls stayed where they should.

I could see she was about to make me lie back down, but the door opened just then, and Ms. Cope stuck her head in.

"We've got another one," she warned.

I hopped down to free up the cot for the next invalid.

I handed the compress back to the nurse. "Here, I’m good, I don't need this anymore."

And then Mike staggered through the door, nonplussed, now carting a sallow-looking Lee Stephens, another boy in our Biology class. Edward and I drew back against the wall to give them room.

"Oh no," Edward muttered. "Go out to the office, Beau."

I looked at him, bewildered.

"Trust me—go."

I spun and caught the door before it closed, darting out of the infirmary. I could feel Edward right behind me.

"You actually listened to me." He was stunned.

"I smelled the blood," I said, surely pulling a face. Lee wasn't sick from watching other people, like me.

"People can't smell blood," he contradicted.

"Well,  _ this _ people  _ can _ —that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust... and salt."

He was staring at me with an unfathomable expression.

"What?" I asked.

"It's nothing."

Mike came through the door then, glancing from me to Edward. She settled on me, eyes brightening a bit.

"You look better," she assessed.

"I am better. Just keep your hand in your pocket, okay?" I asked, wary of her hidden appendage.

"It's not bleeding anymore," she dismissed, waving me off. "Are you going back to class?"

"Nope. I’d just have to turn around and come back."

"Yeah, I guess... So, I never got a chance to confirm. Are you going this weekend? To the beach?" While she spoke, she flashed an inclusive look at Edward, who was standing against the cluttered counter, motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space.

I tried to sound as realistically enthusiastic as possible. "Sure, I said I was in."

"We're meeting at my dad's store, at ten." Her eyes flickered again to Edward, trying to make it clear that it was an open invitation, clearly for my sake more than any actual wish for him to come.

"I'll be there," I promised.

"I'll see you in Gym, then," she said, moving, with a nod of the head, toward the door.

"See you," I replied. She looked at me once more, all conspiratorial smile and wagging eyebrows, then went on her way. A swell of embarrassed laughter threatened. I pondered what suitable torture I should employ when I saw her again in Gym. Then the realization hit me.

"Gym," I groaned.

"I can take care of that." I hadn't noticed Edward moving to my side, but he spoke now in my ear. "Go sit down and look pale," he directed.

That wasn't much of a challenge; I was always pale, and my recent embarrassing reaction had left a light sheen of sweat on my face. I sat in one of the creaky folding chairs and rested my head against the wall with my eyes closed. Nearly passing out was always so exhausting.

I heard Edward speaking softly at the counter.

"Ms. Cope?"

"Yes?" I hadn't heard her return to her desk.

"Beau has Gym next hour, and I don't think he feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take him home now. Do you think you could excuse him from class?" His voice was like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming his eyes would be.

"Do you need to be excused, too, Edward?" Ms. Cope fluttered. Why couldn't I make girls flutter? I pointedly didn’t wonder if I even wanted girls fluttering over me. I mean, clearly it was useful if nothing else.

"No, I have Mrs. Goff, she won't mind."

"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Beau," she called to me. I nodded weakly, with only a little ham involved.

"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" With his back to the receptionist, his expression became sarcastic.

"I'm quite capable of upward mobility, Edward, thanks," I returned in a voice to match his expression.

I stood carefully, and luckily I was still fine. He held the door open for me, his smile polite but his eyes mocking. I walked out into the cold fine mist that had just begun to fall. It felt nice—the first time I'd actually been thankful for the constant moisture falling out of the sky—as it washed my face clean of the sticky perspiration.

"Thanks for the Jedi mind trick," I said as he followed me out. "It's almost worth getting sick if I get to miss Gym."

"Anytime." He was staring straight forward, squinting into the rain.

"So, are you going? This Saturday, I mean?" I was hoping he would, though it seemed unlikely. I couldn't picture him loading up to carpool with the rest of the kids from school; it was hard enough picturing me doing it and he didn't even seem to belong in the same world. But just hoping that he might gave me the first twinge of enthusiasm I'd felt for the outing.

"Where are you all going, exactly?" He was still looking ahead, expressionless.

"Down to La Push, to First Beach." I studied his face, trying to read it. His eyes seemed to narrow infinitesimally.

He glanced down at me from the corner of his eye, smiling wryly. "I really don't think I was invited."

I sighed. "You were invited. In case you hadn’t noticed, I just invited you."

"Let's you and I keep our friendship limited to you and I, at least for now. I’m not a fan of social complications." His eyes danced over me in a way that I liked much more than I felt I should.

"No drama," I extrapolated, preoccupied by the way he'd said "you and I." Which I also liked much more than I should. This couldn’t be healthy.

We were near the parking lot now. I veered left, toward my truck. Something caught my jacket, yanking me back.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, exasperated. He was gripping a fistful of my jacket in one hand.

I was confused. "Home?"

"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?" His voice was still indignant.

"My condition?” I repeated testily, but quickly saw that he wouldn’t be budged. “Whatever. What about my truck?

"I'll have Alice drop it off after school." He was pushing me lightly toward his car now, guiding me by my jacket. It was all I could do to keep from tripping over the flat ground in our awkward shamble. If I did, he'd probably just drag me along anyway.

"This would go much smoother if you’d let go." I insisted. He ignored me. I staggered along like an uncoordinated crab across the wet sidewalk until we reached the Volvo. Then he finally freed me—I stumbled against the passenger door.

"So pushy," I grumbled, half mockingly.

"It's open," was all he responded. He got in the driver's side.

I stood by the car, debating on making a break for it. It was raining harder now, and I'd never put my hood up, so my hair was dripping down my back. He’d catch me. He could stop a car with his bare hands. He’d definitely catch me. And I was already as soggy as I wanted to be.

He lowered the automatic window and leaned toward me across the seat. "Get in, Beau."

I didn't answer, still debating.

"I'll just drag you back," he threatened, answering my unasked question.

I tried to maintain what dignity I had left to me as I got into his car. I wasn't very successful—I looked like a half-drowned cat and my boots squeaked.

"You and your obsession with kidnapping me," I said stiffly.

He didn't answer. He fiddled with the controls, turning the heater up and the music down. As he pulled out of the parking lot, I was preparing to just give him the silent treatment, not knowing how else to properly show my frustration with his overprotectiveness, but then I recognized the music playing, and my curiosity got the better of my intentions.

"Clair de Lune?" I asked, surprised.

"You know Debussy?" He sounded surprised, too.

"Not well or anything," I admitted. "My mom plays a lot of classical music around the house—I only remember the names of my favorites."

"It's one of my favorites, too." He stared out through the rain, lost in thought.

I listened to the music, molding against the light gray leather seat. It was impossible not to relax as the familiar, soothing melody went through me. The rain blurred everything outside the window into gray and green smudges. I began to realize we were driving very fast; the car moved so steadily, so evenly, though, that I didn't feel the speed. Only the town gave it away, flashing fuzzily by.

"What is your mother like?" he asked me suddenly.

I glanced over to see him studying me with curious eyes.

"She looks a lot like me, but, like, girlier," I said. He raised his eyebrows. "I have a lot of Charlie in me, which makes me awkward where she’s natural. I have his eyes. Hers are blue.” I thought for a moment, trying to sum my mother up somehow. “She's more outgoing than I am, and braver.” I said, smiling. “She's irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she's a very unpredictable cook. She's my best friend." I stopped. Talking about her was making me miss her too much.

"How old are you, Beau?" His voice sounded frustrated for some reason I couldn't fathom. He'd stopped the car, and I realized we were at Charlie's house already. The rain was so heavy that I could barely see the house at all. It was like the car was submerged under a river.

"Seventeen," I responded, a little confused.

"You don't seem seventeen."

His tone was reproachful; it made me laugh.

"What?" he asked, curious again.

"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." I laughed, and then sighed. "Probably because I’ve always had to be the adult in our dynamic duo." I paused for a second. "You don't seem much like a junior in high school yourself," I noted.

He made a face and changed the subject.

"So why did your mother marry Phil?"

I was surprised he would remember the name; I'd only mentioned it once, almost two months ago. It took me a moment to answer.

"My mom... she's really young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. In any event, she's crazy about him." I shook my head. Their attraction was a mystery to me that I was perfectly happy to leave that way.

"Do you approve?" he asked.

"Honestly? Yeah," I replied truthfully. "I want her to be happy... and he’s her happy."

"That's very generous... I wonder," he mused.

"What?"

"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?" He was suddenly intent, his eyes searching mine.

"I-I think so," I stuttered. "To a point."

"No one too scary then," he teased.

I grinned in response. "What do you mean by scary? Big ol’ biker fresh out of prison with a swastika tattoo on his forehead and a collection of molars in a jar, scary?"

"That's one definition, I suppose." He chuckled, shaking his head. His smile was quick to dim though. It got me wondering.

"What's your definition?"

But he ignored my question and asked me another. "Do you think that I could be scary?" He raised one eyebrow, and the faint trace of a smile lightened his face.

I thought for a moment, wondering whether the truth or a lie would go over better. I decided to go with the truth. "I think you definitely have the potential, if you ever wanted to be."

"Are you frightened of me now?" The smile vanished, and his perfect face was suddenly serious.

"No," I said calmly, and completely truthfully. After a good mull, his smile returned.

"So, now are you going to tell me about your family?" I asked to distract him. "Going by your... you-ness, it's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."

He was instantly cautious. "What do you want to know?"

"The Cullens adopted you?" I verified.

"Yes."

I hesitated for a moment. "Can I ask, I mean... what happened to your parents, Edward?"

"They died many years ago." His tone was matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"I don't really remember them that clearly. Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now."

"And you love them." It wasn't a question. It was obvious in the way he talked about them.

"Yes." He smiled. "I couldn't imagine two better people."

"You're lucky then."

"I know I am."

"And your brother and sister?"

He glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

"My brother and sister, and Jasper and Rosalie for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

"Oh, right, now who’s kidnapping who." I didn't really want to get out of the car. And not just because of the flood outside.

"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you don't have to tell him about the Biology incident." He grinned at me.

"I'm sure he's already heard. Small towns are _so_ much fun." I sighed.

He laughed, and there was an edge to his laughter.

"Do have fun at the beach... looks like good weather for sunbathing." He glanced out at the sheeting rain.

"I won’t see you tomorrow?"

"No. Emmett and I are starting the weekend early."

"Yeah? What do you have planned?" A friend could ask that, right? I hoped the disappointment wasn't too apparent in my voice.

"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier."

I remembered Charlie had said the Cullens went camping frequently.

"Ew. Okay. Well, try to have fun, I guess." When I glanced over a smile was playing around the edges of his lips.

"Will you do something for me this weekend?" He turned to look me straight in the face, utilizing the full power of his burning gold eyes.

I nodded after a long enough pause to maintain a modicum of self-respect.

"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So... try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?" He smiled crookedly.

"Well, sure, ruin all my fun plans," I complained playfully, jumping out into the rain. “I’ll try my hardest to not die or be terribly maimed. What do normal people do on their weekends?” I smiled and gave him a mock salute, closing the car door.

He was still wearing a grin as he drove away. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy knowing that I had put it there.


	7. Scary Stories

As I sat in my room, trying to concentrate on the third act of Macbeth—the book’s well-worn pages hadn’t turned in at least ten minutes, I didn’t know who I was fooling—I listened for my truck. I would have thought, even over the buckets of rain, I could have heard the engine's roar. But, when I went to peek out the curtain—again—it was suddenly there.

I wasn't looking forward to Friday, and it more than lived up to my grim expectations. Of course, there were the fainting comments. And the fainting reenactments. Jessica especially seemed to get a kick out of that story. Luckily Mike had kept her mouth shut and no one seemed to know about Edward's involvement. Jessica still had a whole list of questions to go through regarding yesterday’s lunch, though.

"So what did Edward Cullen want yesterday?" Jessica asked in Trig.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "He never really got to the point."

"You looked kind of mad," she fished.

"That seems to be my natural state when it comes to him." I kept my expression blank.

"You know, I've never seen him sit with anyone but his family before. That was weird."

"Weird," I agreed. She seemed annoyed; she flipped her dark curls impatiently at my unusual resistance to her interrogation tactics. Ah, Jess. Gotta love her.

The worst part about Friday was that, even though I knew he wasn't going to be there, I still hoped. When I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica and Mike, I couldn't keep from looking at his table, where Rosalie, Alice, and Jasper sat talking, heads close together. And I couldn't stop the disappointment settling in as I realized I didn't know how long I would have to wait before I saw him again.

At my usual table, everyone was full of beach day fun about tomorrow. Mike was animated again, putting a great deal of trust in the local weatherman who promised sun tomorrow. I'd have to see that before I believed it. But it was warmer today—almost sixty. Maybe the outing wouldn't be completely miserable.

I intercepted a few unfriendly glances from Logan during lunch, which I didn't understand until we were all walking out of the room together and I was all but blatantly told. I was right behind him, just a foot from his slick, perfectly coiffed silver-blond hair. He was evidently unaware of the fact that sound carried, even to the air behind you.

"...don't know why Beau,” he sneered my name, "doesn't just sit with the Cullens from now on."

I tried to remember if I’d killed his cousin or something—anything I could have done that would have precipitated this magnitude of un-like—as he continued muttering darkly to Mike. I'd never noticed what an unpleasant, nasal voice he had. Which was surprising. I mean, kid sounded like he’d perpetually just huffed helium, you know? The kind of voice that you’d think would stick in your memory. 

“He’s my friend; he sits with us," Mike answered loyally, picking up her pace to end the conversation. I paused to let Jess and Angela pass me as Logan sped to match Mike’s pace, clearly not taking the hint. I didn't need to hear any more.

That night at dinner, Charlie seemed enthusiastic about my trip to La Push in the morning. I think he felt guilty for leaving me home alone on the weekends, but I understood that he'd spent too many years building his habits to break them now. Of course, he knew the names of all the kids going, and their parents names, and their great-grandparents names, too, probably. He seemed to approve. I wondered if he would approve of my plan to ride to Seattle with Edward Cullen. Not that I was going to give him the chance. I couldn’t even begin to think of explaining anything about Edward to Charlie. He still seemed too often less my Dad, and more a new roommate that I was still getting comfortable around as he bumped about the house. Though there wasn’t much I could do about it, the fact still made me sad. I began calling him Dad more in my head to compensate. Was trying it out more out loud, too.

"Dad, do you know a place called Goat Rocks or something like that? I think it's south of Mount Rainier," I asked casually.

"Yeah—why?"

I shrugged. "Some kids were talking about camping there."

"It's not a very good place for camping." He sounded surprised. "Too many bears. Most people go there during the hunting season."

"Oh," I murmured. "Maybe I got the name wrong." I hadn’t, and now my head was maddeningly full of interactions between the Cullen brothers and various bears.

I’d meant to sleep in, but an unusual brightness woke me. I opened my eyes to see a clear yellow light streaming through my window, and couldn't believe it, hopping up and rushing to the window to check. Sure enough, there was the sun. It was in the wrong place in the sky, too far south, as if it’d been hung crookedly, and it didn't seem to be as close as it should be, but it was definitely the sun.

Clouds ringed the horizon, but a large patch of blue was clearly visible in the middle. I lingered by the window as long as I could, afraid that if I left the blue would disappear.

The Newtons' Olympic Outfitters store was just north of town. I'd seen the store before, of course, but never stopped in—not having much need for any supplies required for being outdoors for any extended period of time. In the parking lot I recognized Mike's Suburban and Tyler's Sentra. As I pulled up next to their vehicles, I could see the group standing around in front of the Suburban. Eric was there, along with Logan—lame—and two other boys I had class with; I was fairly sure their names were Ben and Conner. Jess was there, with Angela. Three other girls stood with them, including one I remembered tripping over in Gym on Friday. That one gave me a dirty look as I got out of the truck, and whispered something to Logan, who ran a hand just over his neat cornsilk hair, maybe feeling for flyaways, as he eyed me scornfully.

Super. It was going to be one of those days. It was a strange experience, to suddenly have haters. I felt like I’d accomplished something, by modern social standards.

At least Mike was happy to see me.

"You came!" she called, delighted. "And I said it would be sunny today, didn't I?"

"Your blind faith in the weatherman has paid off,” I admitted, “and I told you I was coming."

"We're just waiting for Lee and Samantha... unless you invited someone," Mike added, seeming to remember her vague hints to Edward on the day of the great fainting.

"Nope," I lied lightly, hoping I wouldn't get caught in the one word lie. But also wishing that a miracle would occur, miraculously and all that, and that Edward would suddenly appear.

Mike looked sympathetic.

"Will you ride in my car? It's that or Lee's mom's minivan."

"Sure."

She smiled blissfully. It was so easy to make Mike happy.

"You can have shotgun," she promised, eyes widening a moment later as she remembered Jessica and looking conflicted between taking back her promise to me and excluding Jess. Luckily, it was in my power to gracefully forget, offering Jess my seat out of gentlemanly courtesy.

The numbers worked out for everyone, though, when it came to it. Lee brought two extra people, and suddenly every seat was necessary. I managed to wedge Jess in between Mike and me in the front seat of the Suburban. Mike sent me a grateful look promising future servitude, and Jess threw her arms around both of us, looking content. I realized, with a bit of a lump in my throat at the unexpected warm contact, what I’d maybe been missing all these long friendless years.

It was only fifteen miles to La Push from Forks, with gorgeous, dense green forests edging the road most of the way and the wide Quillayute River snaking beneath it twice. I was glad I had the window seat, admiring the fat beams of golden sun dripping through the greenery. We'd rolled the windows down—the Suburban was a bit claustrophobic with nine people in it—and I tried consciously to absorb as much vitamin D as possible.

I'd been to the beaches around La Push many times during my Forks summers with Charlie, so the mile-long crescent of First Beach was familiar to me. It was still breathtaking. The water was dark gray, even in the sunlight, white-capped and heaving to the rocky shore—also gray. Islands rose out of the steel harbor waters with sheer cliff sides, reaching to uneven summits and crowned with austere, soaring firs. The beach had only a thin border of actual sand at the water's edge, after which it grew into millions of large, smooth stones that looked uniformly gray from a distance, but close up were every shade a stone could be: terra-cotta, sea green, lavender, blue gray, dull gold. The tide line was strewn with huge driftwood trees, bleached bone white in the salt waves, some piled together against the edge of the forest fringe, some lying solitary, just out of reach of the waves.

There was a brisk wind coming off the waves, cool and briny. Pelicans floated on the swells while seagulls and a lone eagle wheeled above them. The clouds still circled the sky, threatening to invade at any moment, but for now the sun shone bravely in its halo of blue.

We picked our way down to the beach, Mike leading the way to a ring of driftwood logs that had obviously been used for parties like ours before. There was a fire circle already in place, filled with black ashes. Eric and the boy I thought was named Ben gathered broken branches of driftwood from the drier piles against the forest edge, and soon had a teepee-shaped construction built atop the old cinders.

"Have you ever seen a driftwood fire?" Mike asked me. I was sitting on one of the bone-colored benches; girls clustered, gossiping excitedly, on either side of me. Mike kneeled by the fire, lighting some kindling with a cigarette lighter.

"No," I said as she placed the blazing paper carefully against the teepee.

"You'll like this then—watch the colors." She lit more paper, shoving it inside the pile of bleached wood. Where the fire caught wood, the flames licked quickly upwards in...

I smiled. "Blue?"

"The salt does it. Pretty, isn't it?" She lit one more piece, placed it where the fire hadn't yet caught, and then came to sit by me, Jess on her other side. Jess turned to her and claimed her attention. I was happy to watch the strange blue and green flames crackle toward the sky.

After half an hour of chatter, some of the other guys wanted to hike to the nearby tidal pools. It was a dilemma. On the one hand, I loved the tide pools. They had fascinated me since I was a child; they were one of the only things I ever looked forward to when I had to come to Forks. On the other hand, I'd also fallen into them a lot. Not a big deal when you're seven and with your dad, but a big deal ten years later when it would be your peers fishing you soggily out. It also reminded me of Edward's request—that I not fall into the ocean.

Logan was the one who solidified my decision. He didn't want to hike and was definitely wearing the wrong shoes for it. Most of the girls besides Angela and Jessica decided to stay on the beach as well. I waited until Eric had committed to remaining with them before I got up quietly to join the pro-hiking group. Mike gave me a huge smile when she saw that I was coming and reeled me into a half hug, pulling me along the path with her.

The hike wasn't too long, though I hated to lose the sky in the woods. The green light of the forest was strangely at odds with the adolescent laughter, too murky and solemn to be in harmony with the light banter around me. I had to watch each step I took very carefully, avoiding roots below and branches above, and I soon fell behind, even Mike and Jessica leaving me to my own devices, wrapped up in their own excited conversation. Eventually I broke through the emerald confines of the forest and found the rocky shore again. It was low tide, and a tidal river flowed past us on its way to the sea. Along its pebbled banks, shallow pools that never completely drained were teeming with life.

I was cautious not to lean too far over the little ocean ponds. The others were fearless, leaping over the rocks, perching precariously on the edges. I found a very stable-looking rock on the fringe of one of the largest pools and sat there cautiously, spellbound by the natural aquarium below me. The bouquets of brilliant anemones undulated ceaselessly in the invisible current, twisted shells scurried about the edges, obscuring the crabs within them, starfish stuck motionless to the rocks and each other, while one small black eel with white racing stripes wove through the bright green weeds, waiting for the sea to return. I was completely absorbed, except for one small part of my mind—the Edward corner we’ll call it—that wondered what he was doing right then and tried to imagine what he would be saying if he were here with me.

Finally, the troops decided that they were hungry, and I got up stiffly to follow them back. I tried to keep up better this time through the woods, so naturally I fell a few times. I got some shallow scrapes on my palms, and the knees of my jeans were stained green, but it could have been worse. It could have been raining.

When we got back to First Beach, the group we'd left behind had multiplied. As we got closer I could see the shining, straight black hair and copper skin of the newcomers, teenagers from the reservation come to see what all the fuss was about.

The food was already being passed around, and there was a race to claim our share while Eric hurried to introduce us all individually as we entered the driftwood circle. Hurrying to score some food for myself, I wasn’t the last to arrive, and, as Eric said my name, I noticed a younger girl sitting on the stones near the fire glance up in interest. I wedged myself playfully between Jess and Angela with my stack of sandwiches and a couple drinks, while a guy who looked to be the oldest of the visitors rattled off the names of the seven others with him. All I caught was that one of the girls was also named Jessica, and the girl who had noticed me was named Julie.

It was relaxing to sit with Angela; she was a restful kind of person to be around. She didn't seem to feel the need to fill every silence with chatter, which left me free to think undisturbed while we ate. And what I thought about was how disjointedly time seemed to flow in Forks, passing in a blur at times, with single images standing out more clearly than others. And then, at other times, every second was significant, etched in my mind. I knew exactly what caused the difference—a something with hair like a new penny and eyes like honey—or deep space—and it disturbed me.

During lunch the clouds started to advance, slinking across the blue sky, darting in front of the sun momentarily, casting long shadows across the beach, and blackening the waves. As they finished eating, people started to drift away in twos and threes. Some walked down to the edge of the waves, trying to skip rocks across the choppy surface. Others were gathering a second expedition to the tide pools. Mike—with Jessica shadowing her—headed up to the one shop in the village. Some of the local kids went with them; others went along on the hike. By the time they all had scattered, I was sitting alone on my driftwood log, with Logan and Tyler occupying themselves with the CD player someone had thought to bring, and three teenagers from the reservation perched around the circle, including the girl, Julie, and the oldest guy who had acted as spokesperson.

A few minutes after Angela left to meet up with the shop-goers, Julie sauntered over to take Angela’s place by my side. The girl looked fourteen, maybe fifteen, was short with a tiny frame and had glossy black hair that she’d pulled back and stacked in a large messy bun atop her head, a few loose strands haloing her face. Her skin was beautiful, silky and russet-colored; her eyes dark, deep pools that rested above the high planes of her cheekbones. She still had just a hint of childish roundness around her otherwise pointed chin. Altogether, a really pretty face. However, my positive opinion of her looks was damaged by the first words out of her mouth.

"You're Beauregard Swan, aren't you?"

It was like the first day of school all over again.

"Beau," I sighed.

"Oh, sorry, I totally get it. I'm Julie Black." She held her hand out in a friendly gesture. "But everyone calls me Julz. Because I make them. Julie is so... boring. You’re the one who bought my dad's truck."

"Oh," I said, relieved that she understood where I was coming from regarding names and shaking her sleek hand. "Billy’s your dad. I probably should remember you."

"No, I'm the baby—you would remember my older brothers."

"Rico and Ray," I suddenly recalled. Charlie and Billy had thrown us together a lot during my visits, to keep us busy while they fished. There was a lot of being drug to play pranks on local girls, and being used as bait, as I recall, and at times I had almost longed for the days of peaceful silence while fishing. Of course, since I'd kicked up enough tantrums to end the fishing trips by the time I was eleven, I couldn’t have come crawling back. It was a matter of pride.

"Are they here?" I examined the guys at the ocean's edge, wondering if I would recognize them now.

"No." Julz shook her head. "Ray got a scholarship to Washington State, and Rico married a Samoan surfer—he lives in Hawaii now."

"Married, huh? In Hawaii. Nice." But married. It seemed weird. The twins were only a little over a year older than I was.

"So how do you like the truck?" she asked.

"It’s awesome. It runs great, as old as it is."

"Yeah, but it's slow," she laughed. "Like, painfully slow. I was so relieved when Charlie bought it. My dad wouldn't let me work on building another car when we had a perfectly good vehicle right there."

"It's not  _ that _ slow," I objected.

"Have you ever tried going over sixty?"

"Um, no," I admitted.

"Good. Don't." She grinned.

I couldn't help grinning back. "It does great in a collision," I offered in my truck's defense.

"I don't think a tank could take out that old monster," she agreed with another laugh.

"So you build cars?" I asked, impressed and slightly intimidated. I couldn’t even put together a set of drawers.

"When I have free time, and parts, yeah. You wouldn't happen to know where I could get my hands on a master cylinder for a 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit?" she added jokingly. She had a pleasant, breathy voice, pitched high, but with a rumble under it, like she had a bit of a sore throat. I’d heard my mom call that a whisky voice, once. I liked the sound of that.

"Sorry," I laughed, "Haven't seen any lately, but I'll keep my eyes open for you." I said it casually, as if I knew what a master cylinder was. She was really easy to talk with.

She flashed a brilliant smile, looking at me appreciatively in a way I was learning to recognize. I wasn't the only one who noticed.

"You know Beau, Julie?" Logan asked—the helium huffer—from across the fire.

"It’s Julz actually, and I guess we've sort of known each other since I was born," she laughed, smiling at me again.

"How nice." He didn't sound like he thought it was nice at all, and his pale, fishy eyes narrowed. Beside me, I saw Julz dark eyes do the same. I heard her grumble something under her breath about Draco Malfoy and had to hold in a snicker. Couldn’t quite stop the smile from showing, in time.

"Beau," Logan called again. Oops. The boy who would henceforth be known as Malfoy was watching my face carefully, smiling thinly. "I was just saying to Tyler that it was too bad none of the Cullens could come out today. Didn't anyone think to invite them?" His expression of concern was unconvincing.

"You mean Dr. Carlisle Cullen's family?" the tall, older guy asked before I could respond, which was probably for the best, and had the added benefit of irritating Logan. The new guy, I’d forgotten his name, was basically an adult, and his voice was a deep rumble of gravelly bass.

"Yes, do you know them?" Logan asked condescendingly, turning halfway toward him.

"The Cullens don't come here," he said in a tone that closed the subject, ignoring Logan’s question.

Tyler, trying to win back Logan’s attention, asked his opinion of a CD that she held. He was distracted.

I stared at the older guy curiously, having paid better attention than Logan had to his words, but he was looking away toward the dark forest behind us. He'd said that the Cullens didn't come here, but his tone had implied something more—that they weren't allowed; were prohibited. His strange disconnect from the revelry around him, like he was on guard somehow, left an impression on me, and I tried to ignore it without success.

Julz interrupted my meditation. "So, is Forks driving you insane yet?"

"Oh, I'd say that's an understatement." I grimaced. She grinned in understanding.

I was still turning over the brief comment on the Cullens, and I had a sudden inspiration. It was a stupid plan, and a bit on the mean side, but I didn't have any better ideas. I hoped that young Julz was as yet inexperienced around guys, so that she wouldn't see through my sure-to-be-pitiful attempts at flirting.

"You want to walk down the beach with me?" I asked, trying to imitate that way Edward had of looking up from underneath his eyelashes. I didn’t attempt a full smolder, and it couldn't have nearly the same effect, I was sure, but Julz jumped up willingly enough. How odd.

As we walked north across the multihued stones toward the driftwood seawall, the clouds finally closed ranks across the sky, causing the sea to darken and the temperature to drop. I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket, glad that Julz was properly dressed and I wouldn’t have to give it up in a gentlemanly gesture.

"So you can’t be that much younger than me. You’re what, sixteen?" I asked, trying not to look like an idiot as I threw her my attempt at a crooked grin. Edward’s constant attempts to flirt with me were finally coming in handy.

"I just turned fifteen," she confessed, flattered that I’d seen her as more mature.

"Really?" My face was full of false surprise. "I would have thought you were older."

"Most girls my age are pretty immature," she explained.

"Not you. Do you come up to Forks much?" I asked archly, as if I was hoping for a yes. I sounded idiotic to myself, and my obvious success was making me feel guilty. I felt like at any moment she would turn on me with disgust and accuse me of fraud, but she still seemed flattered.

"Not too much," she admitted with a frown. "But when I get my car finished I can go up as much as I want—after I get my license," she amended. “Technically,” she tacked on with a sly grin.

"Who was that other guy that Logan, the blonde kid, was talking to? He seemed a little old to be hanging out with us." I purposefully lumped myself in with the younger kids, trying to make it clear that I preferred Julz’s company.

"That's Sam—he's nineteen," she informed easily.

"What was all that about the doctor's family?" I asked innocently.

"The Cullens? Oh, they're not supposed to come onto the reservation." She looked away, out toward James Island, as she confirmed what I'd thought I'd heard in Sam's voice.

"Why not?"

She glanced back at me, biting her lip. "Oops. I'm not supposed to say anything about that."

I smiled, reassuringly.

"Secret’s safe here,” I reassured her. “No big deal though,” I went on. “Just curious, I guess. Also, it gives me a really solid excuse to listen to you talk." I tried to make the smile more alluring, wondering if I was laying it on too thick.

She smiled brightly back, though, looking properly allured. I was in a constant state of surprise at my success. Then she lifted one eyebrow and her voice was even raspier than before.

"Do you like scary stories?" she asked, going for ominous.

"Definitely," I enthused, making an effort to smolder now. It was harder than Edward made it look.

Julz strolled to a nearby driftwood tree that had its roots sticking out like the attenuated legs of a huge, pale spider. She perched lightly on one of the twisted roots while I sat beneath on the body of the tree. She stared down at the rocks, a smile hovering around the edges of her full lips. I could see that she was going to try to make this good, and I settled in for a show. I focused on keeping my desperate need to know out of my eyes.

"Do you know any of our old stories, about where we came from—the Quileutes, I mean?" she began.

"No," I admitted.

"Well, there are lots of legends, some of them claiming to date back to the Flood—supposedly, the ancient Quileutes tied their canoes to the tops of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive, like Noah and the ark." She smiled, to show me how little stock she put in the histories. "Another legend claims that we descended from wolves—and that the wolves are our brothers still. It's against tribal law to kill them.

"Then there are the stories about the cold ones." Her voice dropped a little lower.

"The cold ones?" I asked, wrapped up in the drama of the story now.

"Yes. There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and some much more recent. According to legend, my own great-grandfather knew some of them. He was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our land." She rolled her eyes.

I smiled encouragingly.

"He was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf—well, not the wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them werewolves."

"Werewolves have enemies?"

"Only one."

I stared at her earnestly, hoping to disguise my sudden impatience for information as admiration.

"So you see," Julz continued, "the cold ones are traditionally our enemies. But this pack that came to our territory during my great-grandfather's time was different. They didn't hunt the way others of their kind did—they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe. So my great-grandfather made a truce with them. If they would promise to stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-faces." At that, she winked at me.

"If they weren't dangerous, then why... ?" I tried to understand, struggling not to let her see how seriously I was considering her ghost story.

"There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if they're civilized like this clan was. You never know when they might get too hungry to resist." She deliberately worked a thick edge of menace into her tone.

"Civilized?"

"They claimed that they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow able to prey on animals instead."

I tried to keep my voice casual. "So how does it fit in with the Cullens? Are they like the cold ones your great grandfather met?"

"No." She paused dramatically. "They’re the same ones."

She must have thought the expression on my face was fear inspired by her story. She smiled, pleased, and continued.

"There are more of them now, a new female and a new male, but the rest are the same. In my great-grandfather's time they already knew of the leader, Carlisle. He'd been here and gone before your people had even arrived." She was fighting a smile.

"So what are they?" I finally asked. "What are the cold ones?"

She smiled darkly.

"Blood drinkers," she replied in a chilling voice. "Your people would call them vampires."

I stared out at the rough surf after she answered, not sure what expression was on my face and not able to work it into another.

"You have goose bumps," she laughed delightedly.

"You're a good storyteller," I complimented, still staring into the waves.

"Pretty crazy stuff, though, isn't it? No wonder my dad doesn't want us to talk about it to anyone."

I couldn't control my expression enough to look at her yet. "Don't worry, my lips are sealed."

"I didn’t even think about it, but I guess I just violated the treaty," she laughed.

I raised my hand solemnly, the other on my heart. "I'll take it to the grave," I promised, and then I shivered.

"Seriously, though, don't say anything to Charlie. He was pretty mad at my dad when he heard that some of us weren't going to the hospital since Dr. Cullen started working there."

"Yeah, no problem."

"So do you think we're a bunch of superstitious natives or what?" she asked in a playful tone, but with a hint of worry. I still hadn't looked away from the ocean.

I turned and smiled at her as normally as I could.

"Naw. I think you're ridiculously good at telling scary stories, though. I still have goose bumps, see?" I held up my arm.

"Cool." She smiled, petting them without thinking.

And then the sound of the beach rocks clattering against each other warned us that someone was approaching. Our heads snapped up at the same time to see Mike and Jessica about fifty yards away, walking toward us.

"There you are, Beau," Mike called in relief, waving her arm over her head.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Julz asked, alerted by the worried edge in Mike's voice.

"Nope, she’s my girl that’s a friend," I whispered. I was tremendously grateful to Julz, and eager to make her as happy as possible. I threw in a wink for good measure. She smiled, elated by my inept flirting. I was a monster.

"So when I get my license..." she began.

"You should totally come see me in Forks. We could hang out." I felt guilty as I said this, knowing that I'd used her. But I also really liked her. She would be so easy to get along with.

Mike had reached us now, with Jessica still a few paces back. I could see her eyes appraising Julz, then looking satisfied at whatever she’d seen.

"Where have you been?" she asked. “You missed Eric’s flaming s’more debacle.”

"Julz was telling me some scary stories," I volunteered. "She’s crazy good at it."

I smiled at Julz warmly, and she grinned back at the compliment.

"I just wanted to let you know that we're packing up,” Mike informed, clearly bummed. “It looks like it's going to rain. Again."

We all looked up at the glowering sky. It certainly did.

"Okay." I jumped up. "I'll come help."

"It was nice to see you again," Julz said, waving.

"Yeah, totally. Next time Charlie comes down to see Billy, I'll come, too," I promised.

Her grin stretched across her face. "That’d be cool."

"And thanks for the goosebumps," I added, grinning.

I pulled up my hood as we tramped across the rocks toward the parking lot. A few drops were beginning to fall, making black spots on the stones where they landed. When we got to the Suburban the others were already done loading everything back in. I crawled into my shotgun position, shaking my damp hair out playfully onto Jess who was once again beside me. She punched my shoulder with no real force. In back, Angela just stared out the window at the escalating storm, and Logan twisted around in the middle seat to occupy Tyler's attention. I put my arm around Jess this time, laying my head back on the seat and closing my eyes, trying very hard not to think about Edward Cullen’s pale skin.


	8. Nightmare

I told Charlie I had a lot of homework to do, and that I didn't want anything to eat. There was a basketball game on that he was excited about, so he wasn't aware of anything unusual in my face or tone. I loved basketball for that if for nothing else.

Once in my room, I locked the door, digging through my desk until I found my old headphones, and plugging them into my little CD player. I picked up a CD that Phil had given to me for Christmas. It was one of his favorite bands, full of bass and shrieking. I popped it into place and lay down on my bed. I put on the headphones, hit Play, and turned up the volume until it hurt my ears. I closed my eyes, but the light still intruded, so I added a pillow over the top half of my face.

I concentrated very carefully on the music, trying to understand the lyrics, to unravel the complicated drum patterns. By the third time I'd listened through the CD, I knew all the words to the choruses, at least. And the band was awesome. Sometimes you just needed loud screaming emotion in your life. The shattering beats made it impossible for me to think about anything else—the whole purpose of the exercise. I'd have to remember to thank Phil again.

I listened to the CD again and again, until I was singing along with all the songs, and then until, finally, I fell asleep.

I opened my eyes on familiar territory, aware in some corner of my consciousness that I was dreaming. I recognized the green light of the forest. I could hear the waves crashing against the rocks somewhere nearby. And I knew that if I found the ocean, I'd be able to see the sun. I was trying to follow the sound—but then Julz was there, tugging on my hand, pulling me back toward the blackest part of the forest.

"Julz? What's wrong?" I asked. Her face was frightened as she yanked with all her strength against my resistance; I didn't want to go back into the dark.

"Run, Beau, you have to run!" she whispered, terrified.

"This way, Beau!" I recognized Mike's voice calling out of the gloomy heart of the trees, haunting. I couldn't see her through the shadow.

"Why?" I asked, still pulling against Julz's grasp, desperate now to find the sun.

But Julz let go of my hand and yelped, suddenly shaking, falling to the dim forest floor. She twitched on the ground as I watched in horror.

"Julz!" I screamed. But she was gone. In her place was a large red-brown wolf with black eyes. The wolf faced away from me, pointing toward the shore, the hair on the back of its shoulders bristling, low growls issuing from between its exposed fangs.

"Beau, run!" Mike cried out again from behind me. But I didn't turn. I was watching a light coming toward me from the beach.

And then Edward stepped out from the trees, his skin faintly glowing, his eyes black and dangerous. He held up one hand and beckoned me to come to him. My hand raised, unconsciously reaching to meet his. The wolf growled, moving to block me.

I took a step forward, pushing against the wolf’s padded side, toward Edward. He smiled then, and his teeth were sharp, pointed.

"Trust me," he purred.

I pushed for another step.

The wolf launched herself across the space between me and the vampire, fangs aiming for the jugular.

"No!" I screamed, wrenching upright out of my bed.

My sudden movement caused the headphones to pull the CD player off the bedside table, and it clattered to the wooden floor amid breaking noises.

Shit.

My light was still on, and I was sitting, rigid, fully dressed on the bed, with my shoes still on. I glanced, disoriented, at the clock on my dresser. It was five-thirty in the morning.

I groaned, fell back and rolled over onto my face, kicking off my boots. I was too uncomfortable to get anywhere near sleep, though. I rolled back over and unbuttoned my jeans, yanking them off awkwardly while trying to stay horizontal. I could feel my hair sticking to my skull with the sweat my nightmare had produced. I turned onto my side and ran my hands through it quickly, leaving it messy, yet comfortable. I pulled the pillow back over my eyes.

It was all no use, of course. My subconscious had dredged up exactly the images I'd been trying so desperately to avoid. I was going to have to face them now.

I sat up, and my head spun for a minute as the blood flowed downward. First things first, I thought to myself, happy to put the thinking part off as long as possible. I shambled to the bathroom, pulling my sweaty shirt over my head as I went.

The shower didn't last nearly as long as I hoped it would. Even taking the time to floss, I was soon out of things to do in the bathroom. Waist wrapped in a towel, I crossed back to my room, gingerly scooping up the sweaty shirt I’d dropped in the hall. I couldn't tell if Charlie was still asleep, or if he’d already left. I went to look out my window, and the cruiser was gone. Fishing again, no doubt.

I dressed slowly in sweats and even went as far as to make my bed—something I never did. I couldn't put it off any longer. I went to my desk and switched on my old computer.

I hated using the Internet here. My modem was sadly outdated, my free service substandard; just dialing up took so long that I decided to go get myself a bowl of cereal while I waited.

I ate slowly, chewing each bite with care, even after it had long ago gone so soggy that there was no point in chewing. When I was done, I washed the bowl and spoon, dried them, and put them away. My feet dragged as I climbed the stairs. I went to my CD player first, picking it up off the floor and happily finding it undamaged, then placing it precisely in the center of the table. I pulled out the headphones, and put them away in the desk drawer, cord carefully wrapped around them. Then I turned the same CD on, turning it down to background noise.

With another sigh, I turned to my computer. Naturally, the screen was covered in pop-up ads. I sat in my hard folding chair and began closing all the little windows. Eventually I made it to a search engine. I shot down a few more pop-ups and then typed in one word.

Vampire.

It took an infuriatingly long time. I contemplated twiddling my thumbs, but was unsure what constituted as twiddling, so gave it up, stymied. When the results came up, there was a lot to sift through—everything from movies and TV shows to role-playing games, underground metal, and gothic cosmetic companies.

Then I found something with some promise—Vampires A-Z. I waited impatiently for it to load, quickly clicking closed each ad that flashed across the screen. Finally the screen was finished—simple white background with black text, academic-looking. Two quotes greeted me on the home page:

Throughout the vast shadowy world of ghosts and demons there is no figure so terrible, no figure so dreaded and abhorred, yet steeped in such fearful fascination, as the vampire, who is himself neither ghost nor demon, but yet who partakes the dark natures and possesses the mysterious and terrible qualities of both. - Rev. Montague Summers

If there is in this world a well-attested account, it is that of the vampires. Nothing is lacking: official reports, affidavits of well-known people, of surgeons, of priests, of magistrates; the judicial proof is most complete. And with all that, who is there who believes in vampires? - Rousseau

The rest of the site was an alphabetized listing of all the different myths of vampires held throughout the world. The first I clicked on, the Danag, was a Filipino vampire supposedly responsible for planting taro on the islands long ago. The myth continued that the Danag worked with humans for many years, but the partnership ended one day when a woman cut her finger and a Danag sucked her wound, enjoying the taste so much that it drained her body completely of blood.

I read carefully through the descriptions, looking for anything that sounded familiar, let alone plausible. It seemed that most vampire myths centered around beautiful women as demons and children as victims; they also seemed like constructs created to explain away the high mortality rates for young children, and to give my fellow males an excuse for infidelity. Many of the stories involved bodiless spirits and warnings against improper burials. There wasn't much that sounded like the movies I'd seen, and only a very few, like the Hebrew Estrie and the Polish Upier, who were even preoccupied with drinking blood.

Only three entries really caught my attention: the Romanian Varacolaci, a powerful undead being who could appear as a beautiful, pale-skinned human, the Slovak Nelapsi, a creature so strong and fast it could massacre an entire village in the single hour after midnight, and one other, the Stregoni benefici.

About this last there was only one brief sentence.

Stregoni benefici: An Italian vampire, said to be on the side of goodness, and the mortal enemy of all evil vampires.

Good vampires. Well, I’ll be. One entry in a hundred, though, wasn’t very good odds.

Overall, there was little that coincided with Julz's stories or my own observations. I'd made a little catalogue in my mind as I'd read and carefully compared it with each myth. Speed, strength, beauty, pale skin, eyes that shift color; and then Julz's criteria: blood drinkers, enemies of the werewolf, cold-skinned, and immortal. There were very few myths that matched even one factor.

And then another problem, one that I'd remembered from the few scary movies that I'd seen and was backed up by today's reading—vampires couldn't come out in the daytime without the sun turning them into a neat pile of ashes. They slept in coffins all day and came out only at night. It was canon.

Aggravated, I snapped off the computer's main power switch, not waiting to shut things down properly. Through my irritation, I felt overwhelming embarrassment. It was all so stupid. I was sitting in my room, researching vampires, because I was pretty sure that I had a thing for one. There was just so much wrong with my head. I decided that most of the blame belonged on the doorstep of the town of Forks—the entire sodden Olympic Peninsula, for that matter. The rain had driven me crazy.

Simple.

I had to get out of the house, but there was nowhere I really wanted to go that didn't involve at least a three-day drive. I pulled on my boots anyway, unclear where I was headed, and went downstairs. Shrugging into my raincoat without checking the weather, I stomped out the door.

It was overcast, but not raining. Yet. I ignored my truck and started east on foot, angling across Charlie's yard toward the ever-encroaching forest. It didn't take long till I was deep enough for the house and the road to be invisible, for the only sound to be the squish of the damp ground under my feet and the sudden cries of the jays.

There was a thin ribbon of a trail that led through the forest here, or I wouldn't risk wandering on my own like this. I could admit that I had no sense of direction; I’d gotten lost plenty of times in much less helpful surroundings. I was a city kid. Trees baffled me. 

The trail wound deeper and deeper into the forest and I wound with it. It snaked around trees I didn’t know the names of, even after years of Charlie pointing them out to me from the cruiser window every summer I’d spent here. See? Baffled. Everything was so covered in green parasites that there were no distinguishing features anyway. I wandered on.

I followed the trail till my anger with myself had burned off all its volatile fuel. As it began running on empty, I slowed. A few drops of moisture trickled down from the canopy above me, but I couldn't be sure if it was beginning to rain or if it was simply left over moisture from yesterday, held high in the leaves above me and slowly dripping its way back down. A recently fallen tree—I knew it must be recent because it wasn't entirely carpeted in moss—rested against the trunk of one of its still-standing comrades, creating a sheltered bench just a few safe feet off the trail. I stepped over the ferns and sat carefully, keeping my jacket between the damp seat and my pants. Then I leaned my hooded head back against the living tree. Struck a real good woe-is-me pose.

I sat quiet in the dripping green dim.

I shouldn’t have come here. I should have known. But where else was there to go? The forest pressed in around me. Far too much like the scene in last night's dream to allow for peace of mind. Now that there was no longer the sound of my soggy footsteps, the silence was too loud in my ears. The birds were quiet, the drops increasing in frequency—raining after all. The ferns grew higher than head height, now that I was seated and my head was nearer the ground, and I knew someone could walk by on the path, three feet away, and not even see me.

Here in the trees it was easier to believe things that had embarrassed me indoors. Nothing had changed in this forest for thousands of years, and all the myths and legends of a hundred different lands seemed much more likely here, in this violent green tangle, than they had in my safe and orderly bedroom.

I forced myself, grudgingly, to focus on the two most important questions I had to answer.

First, I had to decide if it was possible that what Julz had told me about the Cullens could be true.

And of course it couldn’t. It was ridiculous. But I remembered Sam’s serious face. The doubt behind the humor when Julz had realized that she’d violated the treaty. The fact that members of the tribe wouldn’t even go to the hospital on account of the doctor. So what was the answer, then? I asked myself. There was no rational explanation for how I was alive at this moment. I listed again in my head the things I'd seen myself, each memory coming back to me, crystal clear: the impossible speed and strength, the eye color shifting from black to gold and back again, the inhuman beauty, the pale, frigid skin. And more—small things that registered slowly—how they never seemed to eat, their disturbing graceful movements. And the way that Edward sometimes spoke, with unfamiliar cadences and phrases that would be more at home in a turn-of-the-century novel than they were in a twenty-first-century classroom. He’d skipped class the day we'd done blood typing. He hadn't said no to the beach trip till he heard where we were going. He seemed to know what everyone around him—except me—was thinking. He had told me he was the villain, that he was dangerous….

Could the Cullens seriously be vampires?

They were something, that was for sure. Something beyond normal, something that deserved the classification of supernatural. Whether he was cast in the role of vampire or a superhero, even I had to admit that Edward Cullen was not...precisely human. He was something more than that.

So then—maybe a vampire. That would have to be my answer for now.

And then the most important question of all. What was I going to do if it was true?

If Edward was a vampire—I had trouble making myself think the words seriously—then what should I do? Involving someone else was definitely out. I couldn't even believe myself; anyone I told would throw me in the looney bin.

Only two options seemed practical. The first was to take his advice: to be smart, to avoid him as much as possible. To cancel our plans, go back to ignoring him—or at least pretend as convincingly as I could. To put up a mental wall between us in the one class where we were forced together. To tell him to leave me alone and make him believe that I meant it somehow.

Though it would let me drop the ball of anxiety and confusion that being attracted to Edward had forced on me, I didn’t like that plan at all. It made my heart seize up and my lungs shrink to think about it, and that was more anxiety than I could handle, really. Nope. Screw that. Next option.

I couldn’t let go. After all, even if he was something...not good, he'd done nothing to hurt me so far. In fact, I’d currently be strawberry jelly, scraped straight from the pavement into the coffin I’d now be calling home, if not for him acting so quickly. So quickly, I argued with myself, that saving me may not have been a choice, but more a reflex. But if he had an automatic reflex to save lives, how bad could he be, you know? My mind circled itself, chasing its own tail.

There was one thing that I was sure of, if I was sure of anything. The vicious Edward in my dream last night was only a reflection of my fear attached to the word that Julz had used for him, and not an accurate representation of Edward himself. Even so, when I'd screamed at the werewolf's lunge, it wasn't fear for the wolf that brought the cry of "no" to my lips. It was fear that Edward would be harmed—even as he called to me with sharp-edged fangs, clearly hunting me, I’d feared for him.

And when I realized that, I knew I’d finally found my answer. Was there ever a choice, really? I was already in too deep, clearly, where Edward was concerned. Now that I knew—if I knew—my frightening secret meant nothing. Because when I thought of him, of his voice, his expressive eyes and crooked grin, of the magnetic force of his personality, I wanted to be with him. Even if he really did want to kill me, like I’d joked he had when we’d first met. If that was the truth—his truth—even that wouldn’t mean a thing.

Which was terrifying, now that I thought about it.

I couldn’t think about it. Not here, in the darkening forest, the rain pattering like footsteps across the matted forest floor. I was too frightened by my own reaction.

I shivered and rose quickly from where I was hidden, worried for an incoherent moment that the path would have disappeared with the rain. But it was there, safe and clear, winding its way out of the dripping green maze. I followed it purposefully, my hood pulled close around my face, breathing and pace quickening, nearly running through the trees as I realized how far I had come into the woods. I started to wonder if I was heading out at all, blind panic all but taking me when I thought of myself now following the path farther into the confines of the forest. Before I could fully give into it, though, I began to glimpse some open spaces through the webbed branches. I heard a car passing on the street, and I was free, Charlie's lawn stretching out in front of me, the house beckoning me with its promise of warmth and dry socks.

It was just hitting noon when I got back inside. I went upstairs and got dressed for the day, jeans and a t-shirt, my usual fare when staying in the warmth of the house. It didn't take too much effort to concentrate on my task for the day, a paper on Macbeth that was due Wednesday. I settled into outlining a rough draft contentedly, more serene than I'd felt since...well, since Thursday afternoon, if I was being honest.

That had always been my way, though. Making decisions was the painful part, the part I agonized over. Once the decision was made, I simply followed through—usually with relief that whatever happened would happen and I just had to follow the predetermined course. Sometimes the relief was tainted by despair, like in my decision to come to Forks. But it was still better than the internal debate.

This particular decision was ridiculously easy to live with. Dangerously easy.

And so the day was quiet, and productive—I finished my paper before eight. Charlie came home with a large catch, and I made a mental note to pick up a book of recipes for fish while I was in Seattle next week. I only had so many tricks. The chills that flashed up my spine whenever I thought of that trip were no different than the ones I'd felt before I'd taken my walk with Julz Black. They should be different, I thought. I should probably be afraid—I knew I should be—but I also knew myself enough to know that I never felt what I ought to.

I slept without dreaming that night, exhausted from beginning my day so early and sleeping so horribly the night before. I woke, for the second time since arriving in Forks, to the rich yellow light of a sunny day. I dashed to the window, stunned once more to see that there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and those remaining were such fleecy little white puffs that they couldn't possibly be carrying any rain. I opened the window—surprised when it opened silently, without sticking and complaining, having not been around to open it in who knows how many years—and sucked in a few lungfuls of relatively dry air. It was nearly warm outside and hardly windy at all. My blood was electric in my veins.

Charlie was finishing breakfast when I came downstairs, and he picked up on my mood immediately.

"Nice day out," he commented.

I agreed with an enthusiastic nod and a silent grin.

He smiled back, his brown eyes crinkling around the edges. When Charlie smiled, it was easier to see why he and my mother had jumped too quickly into an early marriage. Most of the young romantic he'd been in those days had faded before I'd really known him, as the curly brown hair—the same color, if not the same texture, as mine—had dwindled, slowly revealing more and more of the shiny skin of his forehead. But when he smiled I could see a little of the man who had run away with Renée when she was just two years older than I was now.

I ate breakfast cheerily, watching dust moats dance in the sunlight that streamed in the back window. Charlie called out a goodbye, and I heard the cruiser pull away from the house. I hesitated on my way out the door, hand on my rain coat. It would be tempting fate to leave it home. With a put upon scowl, I folded it over my arm and stepped out into the brightest light I'd seen in months.

With much applied elbow grease, I was able to get both windows in the truck almost completely rolled down. I was one of the first to school; I hadn't even checked the clock in my hurry to get outside. I parked and meandered over to the seldom-used picnic benches on the south side of the cafeteria. The benches were still a little wet, so I sat on my jacket, glad to have found a use for it. My homework was already done—the product of a slow social life—but there were a few Trig problems I wasn't completely sure I had right. I took out my book industriously, but halfway through rechecking the first problem I was daydreaming, watching the sunlight play on the red-barked trees. I sketched inattentively along the margins of my homework. After a few minutes, I suddenly realized that I'd drawn five pairs of dark eyes staring out of the page at me. I scrubbed them out as best as I could with the eraser.

"Beau!" I heard someone call, and it sounded like Mike.

I looked around to realize that the school had become populated while I'd been so absorbed in doing nothing. Everyone was wearing a t-shirt, or some skin-bearing equivalent. Some optimistic souls even wore shorts, though if the temperature was over sixty it was by less than a degree. Mike was coming toward me in khaki shorts just long enough to meet school code and a maroon striped button up, waving.

"Hey, Mike," I called, waving back, more enthusiastic than the situation really warranted.

She didn’t seem to mind, swinging gracefully around to sit next to me, the straight sheet of her hair shining golden in the light, and a big goofy grin stretched across her face.

"I never noticed before—your hair has red in it," she commented, reaching up and petting down a strand that had no doubt been teased into an awkward tangle in the light breeze.

"Only in the sun."

I sat almost comfortably as she continued to pet my head for a few unneeded seconds.

"Great day, isn't it?"

"My kind of day," I agreed.

"What did you do yesterday?" She asked, lazily.

"Mostly worked on my essay. The life of a hermit is an industrious one." I didn't add that I was finished with it—no need to make myself sound irredeemably lame.

She startled me, hitting her forehead with the heel of her hand. "Oh yeah—that's due Thursday, right?"

"Um, Wednesday, I think."

"Wednesday?" She frowned. "That's not good... What are you writing yours on?"

"Whether Shakespeare's treatment of the female characters is misogynistic."

She nodded sagely.

"Sounds very you. I guess I'll have to get to work on that tonight," she said, deflated. "I was going to ask if you wanted to hang out."

"Oh." I was taken off guard. I had known that me and Mike were friends now. I just hadn’t thought much beyond that, about the duties that would be required of me in light of that friendship.

"Well, we could go eat or something, argue over whether the girl waitresses are cuter than the boys. I could work on it later." She smiled, clearly looking for an excuse to get out of working on it today.

"Mike..." I hated being forced to play the adult. I’d gotten out of the habit lately, not having to constantly watch my mother. "Is that the best idea?"

Her face fell. "You’re probably right." she said, glumly. “Party pooper. I really wanted to get the inside scoop on your thing with Cullen, too.” Which made me picture Edward, which reminded me again of the decision that I’d made regarding him.

"I think... and if you ever repeat what I'm saying right now I will cheerfully beat you to death," I threatened, "but I think that I’ve come to terms with the fact that I want us to be a thing. Which makes me wonder why he won’t come out and tell me if we are a thing or not. Or tell me anything with certainty, for that matter."

She was nodding, and she began petting my head again. "It’ll work out, bud."

"Yeah. You and Jess ended up all right."

"Yeah, we are that," she breathed happily, beginning to play with my hair now. I happened to glance at my watch and realized with a groan that we’d have to move. I debated a protest, but decided finally against it, as all that sign waving would take more energy than just giving in.

"It's time for class. And I can't be late again," I finally sighed, squeezing the hand in my hair gently as I extracted it, then gathering up my books, stuffing them haphazardly into my bag.

We walked in silence to building three, letting the peace we’d had last as long as we could. I hoped whatever thoughts she was immersed in would somehow be of help in my Edward predicament. But then I took her advice and decided to let what happened happen. It was good advice, and I was so tired of overthinking things.

When I saw Jessica in Trig, she was bubbling with enthusiasm. She, Angela, and Tyler were going to Port Angeles tonight to go dress shopping for the dance, and she wanted me to come, too, even though I clearly didn’t need one. I wondered aloud why Mike wasn’t going, but Jess said that she wanted her dress to be a surprise. I was indecisive. It would be nice to get out of town with some friends, something I’d never actually done before, but they would be dress shopping, which sounded really boring. And if I had a chance to talk to Edward, if he finally gave me any answers, well who knew what I could be doing tonight... But that was definitely the wrong path to let my mind wander down. I was too happy; my brain was broken. Of course, I was ostensibly happy about the sunlight. But really, mostly, I was happy over the prospect of Edward.

So I gave her a maybe, telling her I'd have to talk with Charlie first.

She talked of nothing but the dance on the way to Spanish, continuing without an interruption once we were there, sometimes in Spanish, until class finally ended five minutes late, and was still talking as we walked to lunch. I was far too lost in my own frenzy of anticipation to take in all of what she said, but it seemed like she was happy simply to have someone to nod at her every once in a while. I was painfully eager to see not just Edward today, but all of the Cullens—to compare them with the new frame of reference that I was trying them out in. As I crossed the threshold of the cafeteria, I felt the first true tingle of fear slither down my spine and settle in my stomach. Would they all be able to know what I was thinking? Could the others, though Edward said that he could not? I hadn’t taken the time to think much on his siblings before now. And then a different feeling jolted through me—would Edward be waiting to sit with me again?

As was my routine, I glanced first toward the Cullens' table. A tumble of confusion halted my step a hitch as I realized it was empty. With dwindling hope, my eyes scoured the rest of the cafeteria, hoping to find him alone, though his family was absent, and waiting for me. The place was nearly filled—Spanish had made us late—but there was no sign of Edward or any of his family anywhere. The disappointment I felt left a sour taste in my mouth.

I shambled along behind Jessica, not able to even pretend to listen anymore.

We were late enough that everyone was already at our table. I left the empty chair next to Mike open, instead choosing the one by Angela. I vaguely noticed Mike scoot the chair back with her foot—not looking up from the notebook that she furiously scribbled in, every once in a while replacing pencil with fork to take a few distracted bites of her salad—as Jessica approached, and that Jess’s face lit up with a smile in response.

Angela asked a few quiet questions about the Macbeth paper, which I answered as naturally as I could while spiraling downward into misery. She, too, invited me to go with them tonight, and I agreed now, grasping at anything to distract myself. Even dress shopping. I’d sunk that low.

I realized that I'd been holding on to a last shred of hope when I entered Biology, saw his empty seat, and felt a fresh wave of disappointment hit me.

The rest of the day passed slowly, dismally. In Gym, we had a lecture on the rules of badminton, the next torture they had lined up for me. At least it meant that I could sit and listen instead of stumbling around aimlessly on the court, trying to look participatory. The best part of the day was when the bell cut off the coach mid-explanation, which meant that I got another day off tomorrow. Never mind that the day after that they would arm me with a racket before unleashing me on the rest of the class. Gym teachers really were sadistic.

I was glad to leave campus, which left me free to mope and brood to my heart’s content before I went out tonight with Jessica and company. But because the universe hated me, right after I walked in the door of Charlie's house, Jessica called to cancel our plans. I tried to be happy that Mike had finished enough of her paper at lunch that she could take Jess out to dinner—I really was happy that they, as a they, seemed to be working out so well—but my enthusiasm sounded false in my own ears. She rescheduled our shopping trip for tomorrow night.

Which left me without a distraction. I had fish marinating for dinner, with a salad and bread left over from the night before, so there was nothing to do there. I spent a focused half hour on homework, but then that was done and behind me, too. I checked my e-mail, reading the backlog of letters from my mother, getting snippier as they progressed to the present. I sighed and typed a quick response.

Mom,

Sorry. I've been out. I went to the beach with some friends. And I had to write a paper.

My excuses were fairly pathetic, so I gave up on that.

It's sunny outside today—I know, I'm shocked, too—so I'm going to go outside and soak up as much of it as I can. I love you,

Beau.

I decided to kill an hour with non-school-related reading. I had a small collection of books that came with me to Forks, the most worn of the bunch being a compilation of the works of Jane Austen. I grabbed that one and headed to the backyard, picking up a ragged old quilt from the linen cupboard at the top of the stairs on my way down.

Outside in Charlie's small, square yard, I folded the quilt in half and laid it out of the reach of the trees' shadows on the thick lawn that would always be slightly wet, no matter how long the sun shone. I sprawled on my stomach, flipping through the different novels in the book, trying to decide which would occupy my mind the most thoroughly. My favorites were Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility. I'd read the first most recently, so I started into Sense and Sensibility, only to remember after I began that the hero of the story happened to be named Edward. Annoyed, I turned to Mansfield Park, but the hero of that piece was named Edmund, and that was too close to ignore. Weren't there any other names available in the late eighteenth century? I snapped the book shut, done pretending I could be distracted, and rolled over onto my back. I pushed my sleeves up as high as they would go and closed my eyes. I tried forcing myself to think of nothing but the warmth on my skin. The breeze was still light, but it blew my hair around my face, tickling me with the strands playfully. I scrubbed my hands over my face and through my hair, rearranging it, and focused again on the heat that touched my eyelids, my cheeks, my nose, my lips, my forearms, my neck, soaked through my light shirt...

The next thing I was conscious of was the sound of Charlie's cruiser turning onto the bricks of the driveway. I sat up in surprise, realizing the light was gone behind the trees and I had fallen asleep. I looked around, muddled, with the sudden feeling that I wasn't alone.

"Charlie?" I asked. But I could hear his door slamming in front of the house.

I jumped up, suddenly edgy, gathering the now-damp quilt and my book. I ran inside to get some oil heating on the stove, realizing that dinner would be late. Charlie was hanging up his gun belt and stepping out of his boots when I came in.

"Sorry, Dad, dinner's not ready yet—fell asleep outside, I guess." I stifled a yawn.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I wanted to catch the score on the game, anyway."

I watched TV with Charlie after dinner, for something to do. There wasn't likely to be anything on I wanted to watch, but he knew I didn't like baseball, so he turned it to some mindless sitcom that neither of us enjoyed. He seemed happy, though, to be doing something together. And it felt good, despite my sad state, to make him happy.

"Dad," I said during a commercial, "Jessica and Angela are going to look at dresses for the dance tomorrow night in Port Angeles, and they wanted me to come with them I guess, and it seems like I should have known I’d signed up for this kind of thing when I decided to make friends with girls, but... do you mind if I go with them?"

"Jessica Stanley?" he asked.

"And Angela Weber." I sighed as I gave him the details.

He was confused. "But you're not going to the dance with either of them?"

"No, Dad, but I'm helping them find dresses—you know, giving them my manly opinion." And I really wanted to be done explaining. I couldn’t even remember now what could have possibly made me sign myself up for what was sure to be a torturous experience, though I remembered enough to blame Edward.

"Well, okay." He seemed to realize that he was as out of his depth as I was but he could still make it to shore if he abandoned me now. "It's a school night, though."

"We'll leave right after school so we can get back early. You'll be okay for dinner, right?"

"Kid, I fed myself for seventeen years before you got here," he reminded me.

"I know. I’ve been trying to figure out how you’re still alive," I muttered playfully, then added after thinking about that for a moment, "I'll leave some things for sandwiches in the fridge, okay? Right on top."

It was sunny again in the morning. I awakened with a traitorously renewed hope that I grimly tried to suppress. I dressed for the warmer weather in a sweater that was thin and soft and a deep blue that Mom said brought out my eyes—something I'd worn in the dead of winter in Phoenix.

I had planned my arrival at school so that I barely had time to make it to class. With a sinking feeling, I circled the full lot looking for a space, simultaneously searching for a certain silver Volvo that was clearly not there. I parked in the last row and hurried to English, arriving breathless, but subdued, before the final bell.

It was the same as yesterday—I just couldn't keep little sprouts of hope from budding in my mind at the fixed times that my brain had been accustomed to seeing Edward, only to deal with the withdrawals, the happy chemicals refusing to come after I searched the lunchroom in vain, or upon sitting at my empty Biology table.

The Port Angeles scheme was back on again for tonight, though Tyler had other obligations. I was anxious to get out of town so I could stop glancing over my shoulder, hoping to see him appearing out of the blue the way he always did. I vowed to myself that I would be in a good mood tonight and not ruin Angela's or Jessica's enjoyment in the dress hunting. Maybe I could do a little shopping as well, I rationalized, remembering my small working wardrobe. I refused to think about the fact that I might be shopping alone in Seattle this weekend, no longer interested in the arrangement I had found preferable when I’d first made the plans. Surely, he wouldn't cancel without at least having the decency to tell me at some point.

After school, Jessica followed me home in her old white Mercury so that I could ditch my books and truck. I brushed a hand through my hair quickly when I was inside, feeling a slight lift of excitement as I contemplated getting out of Forks. I left a note for Charlie on the table, explaining again where to find dinner, patted down my pocket to be sure it contained my scruffy wallet, and ran out to join Jessica. We went to Angela's house next, and she was waiting for us. My excitement increased exponentially as we drove out of the town limits.


	9. Port Angeles

Jess drove faster than the Chief, which wasn’t hard, so we made it to Port Angeles by four. It struck me again that I’d never had a night out with friends, and certainly not been privy to a girls' night out, so I was optimistic without knowing in the slightest what I should expect at any given moment. We ended up listening to whiny rock songs while Jessica gushed about Mike and talked boys and girls with Angela. I didn’t know how to talk girls to girls and didn’t think I was anywhere near ready to talk boys, only having one boy that interested me in the slightest and not particularly wanting to think about him. Luckily, Jess seemed to sense this, letting me enjoy the conversation and even feel a part of it, without actively participating. Jess's dinner with Mike had gone very well, and she was hoping that by Saturday night they could slide into second base. Angela was passively happy to be going to the dance, but not really interested in Eric, which made me feel a swell of sympathy for the guy. Jess tried to get her to confess who her type was, but I interrupted with an inept question about dresses after a bit, to spare her. Angela threw a grateful glance my way.

Port Angeles was a beautiful little tourist trap, much more polished and quaint than Forks. But Jessica and Angela knew it well, so they didn't plan to waste time on the picturesque boardwalk by the bay. Jess drove straight to the one big department store in town, which was a few streets in from the bay area's visitor-friendly face.

The dance was billed as semiformal, and we weren't exactly sure what that meant, me especially. Both Jessica and Angela seemed surprised and almost disbelieving when I told them I'd never been to a dance in Phoenix.

"Didn't you ever go with a girl, or a friend or anything?" Jess asked dubiously as we walked through the front doors of the store.

"Never did," I tried to convince her, not wanting to confess my dancing problems, or my dating problems, and annoyed at myself now for bringing it up at all. "I've never really been close to anyone. There were so many people at my school in Phoenix, but I never really found a group, I guess. I was... I didn't go out much."

"Why not?" Jessica asked, dumbfounded.

"No one asked me," I answered honestly.

She looked angry for a moment before she let herself soften. "People ask you here," she reminded me, gesturing at us all currently out, "We’re your group now, so you’re stuck, I guess. Poor thing," she added sympathetically, patting me on the shoulder as she wandered past me and toward a violently purple dress. We were in the juniors' section now, and they each began scanning the racks for dresses.

"And there is Tyler," Angela amended quietly, smiling at some joke.

"There’s Tyler what?" I asked, immediately suspicious. "What about Tyler?"

"Tyler told everyone she's going with you to prom," Jess informed me with a wicked grin.

"She what?" I sounded like I was choking.

"She’s got it all planned out," Angela murmured, sharing a small smile with Jessica.

I was silent, still lost in shock that was quickly turning to irritation. But they continued to peruse the dress racks innocently, stifling fits of giggles.

"That's why Logan doesn't like you," Jessica finally divulged, letting loose with her giggles while hiding her face in a green silky dress.

I sighed, put upon. "Do you think that if I ran her over with my truck she’d stop feeling guilty about the accident? Think then she’d call it even?"

"Beau," Jess said, trying to stifle her snickers long enough to speak my one-syllable name. '"That's so not why she's doing this."

“You’re hot,” Angela chimed in matter-of-fact-ly, blushing brightly at her directness.

Another eruption of giggles commenced and I threw my hands up, finding a comfy chair nearby to flop in.

The dress selection wasn't large, but both of them found a few things to try on. I sat on a different comfy chair, just outside the dressing room and in view of the three-way mirror, trying to figure out when I’d suddenly become hot. I couldn’t remember a drastic change in my looks at any point.

Jess was torn between two—one a long, strapless, basic black number, the other a knee-length electric blue with spaghetti straps. Though I honestly thought she looked good in both, I told her to go with the blue; because it was almost the same color as her eyes. Angela chose a pale pink dress that draped around her tall frame nicely and brought out honey tints in her light brown hair. I complimented them both on their choices, glad that it was over, and helped by returning the rejects to their racks. The whole process was honestly much shorter and easier than similar trips I'd taken with Renée at home, though during most of those I was allowed to roam free in other stores. I guess there was something to be said for limited choices.

We weren’t done though, I learned, as we headed over to shoes and accessories. While they tried things on I watched and told them how pretty they looked in everything, realizing that I was to be held hostage for the entire trip and giving up on doing any shopping for myself. The novelty of the outing was beginning to wear off slightly, leaving room for the gloom to move back in.

"Angela?" I began, hesitant, while she was trying on a pair of pink strappy heels—she was overjoyed to have a date tall enough that she could wear high heels at all.

Jessica had drifted to the jewelry counter and we were alone for the moment.

"Yes?" She held her leg out, twisting her ankle to get a better view of the shoe.

I chickened out. "I like those."

"I think I'll get them—though they'll never match anything but the one dress," she mused.

"Oh. I mean, at least they're on sale," I reasoned, pointing to the bright orange discount sticker as evidence. She smiled, putting the lid back on a box that contained more practical-looking off-white shoes.

I tried again. "Um, Angela..." She looked up curiously.

"Is it normal for the... Cullens—" I kept my eyes on the sparkly shoes, "to be out of school a lot?" I failed miserably in my attempt to sound nonchalant.

"Yes, when the weather is good they go backpacking all the time—even the doctor. They're all very outdoorsy," she told me quietly, examining her shoes, too. She didn't ask one question, let alone the hundreds that Jessica would have unleashed. And though I had liked Jess first, I was beginning to really appreciate Angela’s calm presence.

"Oh." I let the subject drop as Jessica returned to show us the rhinestone jewelry she'd found to match her silver shoes.

We planned to go to dinner at a little Italian restaurant on the boardwalk, but the dress shopping hadn't taken as long as we'd expected. Jess and Angela were going to take their clothes back to the car and then walk down to the bay. I told them I would meet them at the restaurant in an hour—I wanted to look for a bookstore, at least, since I’d given up on the clothes. They were both willing to come with me, but I encouraged them to go have fun instead—they didn't know how preoccupied I could get when surrounded by books and I knew now what it was to be a hostage. In any case it was something I preferred to do alone. They walked off to the car, chattering happily, and I headed in the direction that Jess pointed out.

I had no trouble finding the bookstore, but it wasn't at all what I was looking for. The windows were full of crystals, dream-catchers, and books about spiritual healing. I didn't even go inside. Through the glass I could see a fifty-year-old woman with long, gray hair worn straight down her back, clad in a dress right out of the sixties, smiling welcomingly from behind the counter. I decided that was one awkward conversation I could safely skip. There had to be a normal bookstore in town.

I meandered through the streets, which were filling up with end-of-the-workday traffic, and hoped I was headed toward downtown. I wasn't paying as much attention as I should to where I was going; I was wrestling with my other self, the one that couldn’t let anything go, and consequently I was trying so hard not to think about Edward, and what Angela had said… and more than anything trying to beat down my hopes for Saturday, fearing a disappointment more painful than the rest, when I looked up to see someone's silver Volvo parked along the street and it all came crashing down on me.  _ Smug, self righteous, unreliable… vampire _ , I thought to myself.

I powered along in a southerly direction, toward some glass-fronted shops that looked promising. But when I got to them, they were just a repair shop and a vacant space. I still had too much time to kill to think about looking for Jess and Angela yet, though, and I definitely needed to get my mood in hand before I met back up with them. I ran my fingers through my hair a couple of times and took some deep breaths before I continued around the corner.

I started to realize, as I crossed another road, that I was going in the wrong direction. The little foot traffic I had seen was going north, and it looked like the buildings here were mostly warehouses. I decided to turn east at the next corner, and then loop around after a few blocks and try my luck on a different street on my way back to the boardwalk.

A group of four men turned around the corner I was heading for, following a girl just a bit older than I was, though with her wide frightened eyes, she didn’t look it. She wore a baggy college sweatshirt over shorts and was clearly a tourist. They were dressed too casually to be heading home from the office and were way too skeezy to be tourists. They couldn’t see me, hidden just around the building at the start of the block, having seen something that could have been a shop moments ago, only to be disappointed and return to my original plan. As the girl and trailing group approached me without realizing, I could see the way that the men were weaving, passing a bottle amongst themselves between catcalls. Drunk, they were joking loudly among themselves, laughing raucously and punching each other's arms. I stayed my ground behind the corner of the building, knowing I had to help the girl, but not knowing how, mind a blur looking for some solution.

They caught up to the girl, trapping her against a brick wall.

I walked quietly out of my hiding place and up behind them, standing in the middle of the street. Now or never.

“Hey!” I yelled, not really knowing what would come after hey.

The men turned slowly, their drunken attention now on me, and luckily the girl had the presence of mind to sneak out of the space in which they had her trapped and rush down the street, only looking back at me once, the thanks clear in her eyes.

"Hey, yourself!" one of them called.

As a group they moved slowly my way. One glanced hazily back and noticed the girl was missing, shouting out his discovery a moment later, but she was long gone. The one that’d spoken first, the one in charge just grinned.

“Don’t matter ‘bout her. New plans.” A few of the other men chuckled a bit, but their inebriated brains couldn’t quite keep up and they looked confused. “Kid lets our girl get away, well, we can’t just let that stand. No. He’s gotta be taught a lesson.” His steps had backed me up across the rest of the street till the cold slippery surface of a darkened shop window was at my back. He took one more step toward me, so close now that I could smell how his cheap cologne barely covered his body odor.

It was getting dark, I realized, and terrible things were going to happen to me in the dark. The clouds had returned en masse, piling up on the western horizon, creating an early sunset. And the rest of the men closed the distance, finally understanding where this was going.

The eastern sky was still clear, but graying, shot through with streaks of pink and orange. A single van passed us, never slowing, and then the road was empty. Except for them. And me. And the darkening night.

I realized with a shock that two more men had arrived, more inebriated friends, and they stood exchanging greetings and assessing the situation with interest.

I could see in the distance, only four or so intersections down, street lamps, cars, and more pedestrians, but they were all too far away. I couldn’t run. The only option left was to fight, though with six men crowding around me, I knew it was a fight I’d lose.

“That girl had me all hot and bothered, the way she was flirting with us. Then you come and scare her off. So, what? You volunteering to take her place?” He crowded in closer. “You’re awfully pretty for a boy,” he said, voice soft and grin sharp. “You sure you’re not a girl?” He gave me a speculative look that I could feel crawling over my body. Raucous laughter started up around me.

“Must be. Lookit that blush,” One joked, and I knew that was a lie, that I’d gone pale. I’d felt the blood draining from my face. I felt cold.

“Must be shy,” another chimed in.

I dropped to a crouch, surprising the group enough that I was able to dive through and into the street. I’d seen all of their faces. If they caught me now... If they caught me now, then after they’d done what I refused to think about to me, they’d decide to kill me, just to be safe. If they caught me now I was dead. I tensed to run when one of them clamped my wrist in an iron grasp.

I was going to die. The last of the light fled the horizon. I braced for the fight. They’d have to kill me first. They’d have to kill me before I’d let them—

Headlights suddenly flew around the corner, the car almost hitting the one who’s grip bruised my arm, forcing him to jump back toward the others. I stayed my ground in the road—this car was going to stop, or have to hit me. But the silver car unexpectedly fishtailed around, skidding to a stop with the passenger door open just a few feet from me.

"Get in," a furious voice commanded.

It was amazing how instantaneously the anger that I’d built up to override the choking fear vanished. Amazing how suddenly even the fear was gone and a feeling of security washed over me—before I’d gotten off the street—as soon as I heard his voice. This voice belonged to a being that could stop a van with his bare hands. This voice meant that I was safe. That I wouldn’t die tonight. I jumped into the seat, towards the voice, slamming the door shut behind me.

It was dark in the car, no light had come on when the door had opened and I could barely see Edward’s face in the glow from the dashboard. The tires squealed as he spun around to face north, accelerating too quickly, swerving toward the stunned men on the street. I caught a glimpse of them diving for the sidewalk as we straightened out and sped toward the harbor.

"Put on your seat belt," he commanded, and I realized I was clutching the seat with both hands. I quickly obeyed; the snap as the belt connected was loud in the darkness. He took a sharp left, racing forward, blowing through several stop signs without a pause.

But I was safe. I felt completely safe and, for the moment, totally unconcerned about where we were going or how we got there. I stared at his face in profound relief, relief that went beyond my sudden deliverance. I studied his flawless features in the limited light, waiting for my breath to return to normal, until it occurred to me that his expression was murderously angry.

"Are you okay?" I asked, surprised at how hoarse my voice sounded.

"Am I—?” He let one harsh bark of laughter slip. “No," he said curtly, and his tone was livid.

I sat in silence, watching his face while his blazing eyes stared straight ahead, until the car came to a sudden stop. I glanced around, but it was too dark to see anything beside the vague outline of dark trees crowding the roadside. We weren't in town anymore.

"Beau?" he asked, his voice tight, controlled.

"Uh huh?" My voice was still rough. I tried to clear my throat quietly.

"Are you alright?" He still didn't look at me, but the fury was plain on his face.

"Uh huh," I croaked softly.

"Distract me, please," he ordered.

I popped my seatbelt free and had lunged across the seat, wrapping him in a hug before I could even tell myself that it was a bad idea.

He exhaled sharply, a pained sound. He was still for a moment that lasted eons, and I memorized the feel of his chest against my cheek, the cool seeping through his sweater calming me further. Slowly, he untangled my limbs from around him and carefully placed me back in my seat again, motioning for me to stay put.

"Just... talk. Prattle on about something unimportant until I can calm down," he clarified, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"Um." I wracked my brain for something trivial. "I'm going to run over Tyler Crowley tomorrow before school?"

He was still squeezing his eyes closed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Why?"

"She's telling everyone that she's going with me to prom—she's still trying to make up for almost killing me last week... or she thinks I’m hot. Angela says it’s because I’m hot. Am I hot? Anyway, so I figure it can’t be because I’m hot but if I can just endanger her life a little, then we'll be even, and she can stop trying to make amends by forcing me to go out with her. Then maybe Logan would back off too. I might have to total her Sentra, though. If she doesn't have a ride she can't force anyone to go to prom..." I prattled obediently.

"I heard about that." He sounded a bit more composed.

"You did?" I asked in disbelief, my previous irritation flaring. "If she's paralyzed from the neck down, she can't go to the prom, either," I muttered, refining my plan.

“That won’t solve anything, Beau. Unfortunately for me, you  _ are _ ‘hot’,” Edward commented evenly, and finally opened his eyes.

"That sounds so much more unbelievable coming from you. But you’re better now?"

"Not really."

I waited, but he didn't speak again. He leaned his head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling of the car. His face was rigid.

"So why do you need to calm down?" My voice came out in a whisper.

"Sometimes I have a problem with my temper, Beau." He was whispering, too, and as he stared out the window, his eyes narrowed into slits. "But it wouldn't be helpful for me to turn around and hunt down those..." He didn't finish his sentence, looking away, struggling for a moment to control his anger again. "At least," he continued, "that's what I'm trying to convince myself."

"You’re right though," I gritted out, anger flaring, “they do deserve to die.” Then I let it go. Let them go. They didn’t need a second more of my attention. I let my hand hover just above his arm, attempting to still the anger I’d no doubt caused to flare. “But you don’t deserve to have their deaths on your conscience.”

We sat in silence again, my hand remaining. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was past six-thirty.

"Jessica and Angela will be worried," I murmured. "I was supposed to meet them."

He started the engine without another word, and I reluctantly settled back into my seat and re-fastened my belt. He turned us around smoothly and sped back toward town. We were under the streetlights in no time at all, still going too fast, weaving with ease through the cars slowly cruising the boardwalk. He parallel-parked against the curb in a space I would have thought much too small for the Volvo, but he slid in effortlessly in one try. I looked out the window to see the lights of La Bella Italia, and Jess and Angela just leaving, pacing anxiously away from us.

"How did you know where—?" I began, but then I just shook my head. I heard the door open and turned to see him getting out.

"What’s this?" I asked.

"This would be me, taking you to dinner." He smiled slightly, but his eyes were still hard as amber. He stepped out of the car and slammed the door. I fumbled with my seat belt, hurrying to get out as well. He was waiting for me on the sidewalk.

He spoke before I could. "Go stop Jessica and Angela before I have to track them down, too. I don't think I could restrain myself if I ran into your other friends again."

I shivered at the threat in his voice, and at the use of the word friends, however sarcastically, when referring to the men who were seconds away from doing things that would make me beg them to kill me. I stopped thinking abruptly and went after Jess and Ange.

"Jess! Angela!" I yelled after them, waving when they turned. They rushed back to me, the pronounced relief on both their faces simultaneously changing to surprise as they saw who I was standing next to. They hesitated a few feet from us.

"Where have you been?" Jessica's voice still held some leftover worry.

"I got lost," I lied, shamefacedly, not being able to think of anything better with the imagined snippets of what almost happened assaulting me every time I tried to think. "And I just ran into Edward, thankfully, so I finally found the place." I gestured toward him.

"Would it be all right if I joined you?" he asked in his silken, irresistible voice. I could see from their staggered expressions that he had never unleashed his talents on them before.

"Er... sure," Jessica breathed.

"Um, actually, Beau, we already ate while we were waiting—sorry," Angela confessed.

"That's fine—I'm not hungry." I shrugged.

"I think you should eat something." Edward's voice was low, but full of authority. He looked up at Jessica and spoke slightly louder. "Do you mind if I drive Beau home tonight? That way you won't have to wait while he eats."

"Uh, no problem, I guess..." She bit her lip, trying to figure out from my expression whether that was what I wanted. I threw a wink at her to clue her in. I needed to stay with Edward. His presence was the only thing keeping me calm. And it would give me time alone with him. There were so many questions that I couldn't bombard him with till we were by ourselves.

"Okay." Angela was quicker than Jessica. "See you tomorrow, Beau… Edward." She grabbed Jessica's hand and pulled her toward the car, which I could see a little ways away, parked across First Street. As they got in, Jess turned and waved, her face eager with curiosity, and still clouded by a wisp of worry. I must not have been able to school my face into an entirely carefree mask. I waved back, waiting for them to drive away before I turned to face him.

"I'm not hungry," I insisted, scrutinizing his face. His expression was unreadable.

"Humor me."

He walked to the door of the restaurant and held it open with an obstinate expression. Obviously, there would be no further discussion. At least on the topic of my sustenance. I walked past him into the restaurant with a resigned sigh and an eye roll that I made sure he caught.

The restaurant wasn't crowded—it was the off-season in Port Angeles. The hostess was a bit older than me, and I, almost resignedly, understood the look in her eyes as she assessed Edward. She welcomed him a little more warmly than necessary. I wasn’t entirely surprised by how much that bothered me. She, leggy and curvy, unnaturally blond, and oh yeah, female—she was that too. She was everything Edward should have wanted.

"A table for two, please." His voice was alluring, whether he was aiming for that or not. I saw her eyes flicker to me and then away, not held by my obvious ordinariness. Ha. Apparently  _ she _ didn’t consider me hot. At least not hot when standing in Edward’s close proximity. She led us to a table big enough for four in the center of the most crowded area of the dining floor.

I was about to sit, but Edward shook his head at me.

"Perhaps something more private?" he insisted quietly to the host. I wasn't sure, but it looked like he smoothly handed her a tip. I'd never seen anyone refuse a table, except in old movies.

"Sure." She sounded as surprised as I was. She turned and led us around a partition to a small ring of booths, all of them empty—her eyes reappraising the pair of us. "How's this?"

"Perfect." He flashed his gleaming smile, dazing her momentarily.

"Um," she shook her head, blinking,"your server will be right out." She walked away unsteadily.

"You really shouldn't do that to people," I criticized. "It's hardly fair."

"Do what?"

"Dazzle them like that—she's probably hyperventilating in the kitchen right now."

He seemed confused.

"Oh, come on," I said dubiously. "You have to know the effect you have on people."

He tilted his head to one side, and his eyes were curious. "I dazzle people?"

"You haven't noticed? Do you think everybody gets their way so easily?"

He ignored my questions. "This coming from you, who doesn’t even recognize how attractive you are.” He paused for a beat, obviously realizing something. “Do I dazzle you?"

"Frequently," I admitted.

And then our server arrived, her face expectant. The hostess had definitely dished behind the scenes, and this new girl didn't look disappointed. She flipped a strand of short black hair behind one ear and smiled with unnecessary warmth.

"Hello. My name is Amber, and I'll be your server tonight. What can I get you to drink?" I didn't miss that she was speaking only to him. Attractive, indeed.

His eyes remained on me.

"I'll have a Coke?" I said it like a question.

"Two Cokes," he said.

"I'll be right back with that," she assured him with another unnecessary smile. But he didn't see it. He was still watching me.

"What?" I asked when she left.

His eyes stayed fixed on my face. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I replied, surprised by the question and his intensity. I’d forgotten. His presence had flung the night’s trauma from my mind. Even reminded, I felt none of the fear I should by all rights be due. How was he managing it?

"You don't feel dizzy, sick, cold... ?"

"Should I?"

He chuckled at my puzzled tone.

"Well, I'm actually waiting for you to go into shock." His face twisted up into that perfect crooked smile.

"Been there, done that," I said, as close to flippant as I could manage after recovering from yet another flash of dazzle. "And anyways, I've always been pretty good at repressing unpleasant things."

“Unpleasant….” A hint of anger crept back onto his face, clearly not aimed at me. "Just the same, I'll feel better when you have some sugar and food in you."

Right on cue, the waitress appeared with our drinks and a basket of breadsticks. She stood with her back to me as she placed them on the table.

"Are you ready to order?" she asked Edward.

"Beau?" he asked. She turned her attention halfheartedly toward me.

I picked the first thing I saw on the menu. "Um... I'll have the mushroom ravioli."

"And you?" She turned back to him with a smile. It was enough to kill a guy’s confidence.

"Nothing for me," he said. Of course not.

"Let me know if you change your mind." The coy smile was still in place, but he still wasn't looking at her, which boosted my confidence back up to safe levels. She left dissatisfied.

"Drink," he ordered.

I sipped at my soda obediently, and then drank more deeply, surprised by how thirsty I was. I realized I had finished the whole thing when he pushed his glass toward me.

"Thanks," I muttered, still thirsty. The cold from the icy soda was radiating through my chest, and I shivered.

"Are you cold?"

"It's just the Coke," I explained, shivering again.

"Don't you have a jacket?" His voice was disapproving.

"Yeah." I looked at the empty bench next to me. "Oh, right—I left it in Jessica's car," I realized.

Edward was shrugging out of his jacket, which I could already tell would be a good fit for me. We had vaguely similar builds—in the roughest sense of similar. I suddenly realized that I had never once noticed what he was wearing—not just tonight, but ever. I could never seem to look away from his face when around him, drawn in by its unreal perfection. I made myself look now, focusing. He was removing a light beige leather jacket; underneath was an ivory sweater that had been soft when it was against my cheek. It fit him snugly, emphasizing the musculature of his chest.

He handed me the jacket, interrupting my blatant ogling.

"Thanks," I said again, sliding my arms into his jacket. It was cold—the way my jacket felt when I first picked it up in the morning, hanging in the drafty hallway. I shivered again. It smelled amazing. I inhaled, trying to identify the delicious scent. It didn't smell like cologne.

"That color blue against your skin makes it come alive," he said, watching me. I was surprised; I looked down, unable to form words, even to thank him.

He pushed the bread basket toward me.

"I'm not going into shock," I repeated.

"You should be—a normal person would be. You don't even look shaken." He seemed unsettled. He stared into my eyes, and I saw how light his were, lighter than I'd ever seen them, a rich golden butterscotch.

"I feel very safe with you near me," I confessed, mesmerized into telling the truth again. The girly, girly, truth.

That seemed to displease him; his alabaster brow furrowing. He shook his head, frowning.

"This is more complicated than I'd planned," he murmured to himself.

I picked up a breadstick and began nibbling on the end, measuring his expression. I wondered when it would be okay to start questioning him.

"Usually you're in a better mood when your eyes are so light," I commented, trying to distract him from whatever thought had left him frowning and somber.

He stared at me, stunned. "What?"

"You're always crabbier when your eyes are black—I expect it then," I went on. "I have a theory about that."

His eyes narrowed. "More theories?"

"Mm-hm." I chewed on a small bite of the bread, trying to look indifferent.

"I hope you were more creative this time... or are you still stealing from comic books?" His faint smile was mocking; his eyes were still tight.

"Well, no, I didn't get it from a comic book, but I didn't come up with it on my own, either," I confessed.

"And?" he prompted.

But then the waitress strode around the partition with my food. I realized we'd been unconsciously leaning toward each other across the table, because we both straightened up as she approached. She set the dish in front of me—it looked pretty good—and turned quickly to Edward. Sigh.

"Did you change your mind?" she asked. "Isn't there anything I can get you?" I may have been imagining the double entendre, but probably not.

Harlot.

"No, thank you, but some more soda would be nice." He gestured with a long white hand to the empty cups in front of me.

"Sure." She removed the empty glasses and walked away.

"You were saying?" he asked.

"I'll tell you about it in the car. If..." I paused.

"There are conditions?" He raised one eyebrow, his voice ominous.

"I do have a few questions, of course. Quid pro quo, Clarice. Quid pro quo."

He nodded at my reference, face only softening a touch. "I’d argue that you’re Clarice in this little scenario of ours. But very well, I agree to your terms."

The waitress was back with two more Cokes. She sat them down without a word this time and left again.

I took a sip.

"Well, go ahead," he pushed, his voice still hard. “Quid pro quo.”

I started with the most undemanding. Or so I thought. "Why are you in Port Angeles?"

He looked down, folding his large hands together slowly on the table. His eyes flickered up at me from under his lashes, the hint of a smirk on his face.

"Next."

"But that's the easiest one," I objected. “You agreed to my terms.”

"I said that I would answer questions. I never said which questions I’d answer. Next," he repeated.

I looked down, frustrated. I unrolled my silverware, picked up my fork, and carefully speared a ravioli. I put it in my mouth slowly, still looking down, chewing while I thought. The mushrooms were good. I swallowed and took another sip of Coke before I looked up.

"Okay, then." I glared at him, and continued slowly. "Let's say, hypothetically of course, that...someone...could know what people are thinking, read minds, you know—with a few exceptions."

"Just one exception," he corrected, "hypothetically."

"All right, one exception, then." I was thrilled that he was playing along, but I tried to seem casual.

"How does that work? What are the limitations? How would… that someone… find someone else at exactly the right time? How would he know that hypothetical person was in trouble?" I wondered if my convoluted questions even made sense.

"Hypothetically?" he asked.

"Very hypothetically."

"Well, if… that someone—"

"Let's call him 'Joe,'" I suggested.

He smiled wryly. "Joe, then. If Joe had been paying attention, the timing wouldn't have needed to be quite so exact." He shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Only you could get into trouble in a town this small. You would have devastated their crime rate statistics for a decade, you know."

"What happened to our hypothetical case?" I asked lightly, feigning playfulness to hide the sudden flash of terror and anger that his words had brought on, remembering my fate that almost was.

I did a good job, too. He laughed at me, not noticing the emotional lightning strike, his eyes warm.

"My apologies," he said, with a lingering smile. "Shall we call you 'John'?"

"I thought I was Clarice,” I complained, gaining a widening of that smile. “So how did you know, Joe?" I asked, suddenly serious, unable to curb my intensity. I realized I was leaning toward him again.

He seemed to be wavering, torn by some internal dilemma. His eyes locked with mine, and I guessed he was making the decision right then whether or not to simply tell me the truth.

"You can trust me. You know you can," I pushed. I reached forward, without thinking, to touch his folded hands, but he slid them away minutely. I drummed the wood under my rejected fingers a few times, a bit frustrated, and stared at a condensation ring on the varnish of the table as I regained a bit of composure, finally taking my hand back.

"I don't know if I have a choice anymore." His voice was almost a whisper. It drew my eyes back to his face, the rejection of moments ago fading. "I was wrong—you're much more observant than I gave you credit for."

"You can’t always be right, Edward. Life usually gets around to teaching that lesson a lot quicker, you know. It’s probably easier that way."

"Quicker. You have no idea. I used to be—" He shook his head again. "—right. Always. But I was wrong about you in another area, as well. You're not a magnet for accidents—that's not a broad enough classification. You are a magnet for trouble. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you."

"And you put yourself into that category." I surmised.

His face turned cold, expressionless. "Unequivocally."

I saw the shame, the sadness, the fear of rejection buried behind the cold in his eyes and stretched my hand across the table again—ignoring him when he pulled back slightly once more—to touch the back of his hand, stilling the barest flutter of a tremor, reassuring him with my fingertips. His skin was cold and hard, like a stone. I warmed it.

"Thank you." My voice was fervent with gratitude, warm, like my hand. "That's two life debts I owe you."

And my touch and voice caused his face to thaw. "Let's not try for a third, agreed?"

I nodded. “Two is enough.”

He moved his hand, almost hesitantly, out from under mine, placing both of his under the table. But he leaned further into me.

"I followed you to Port Angeles," he admitted, speaking in a rush. "I've never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it's much… harder than I would have believed. But that's probably just because it's you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes." He paused. I wondered if it should bother me that he was stalking me; instead I felt a strange surge of power at being so obsessed over—by him of all people. He stared, maybe wondering why my lips were curving into an involuntary smile.

"Did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with the van, and that you've been interfering with Death’s design?" I speculated, distracting myself.

"No. That wasn't the first time, Beau," he all but whispered, his voice hard to hear. I stared at him in amazement, but he was looking down. "Your number was up the first time I met you."

I didn’t feel the spasm of fear at his words that I knew I should—at the memory of his violent black glare that first day... because I had known, I had already known, in the lizard parts of my brain, that I had been prey that day. And yet I was still here, with the overwhelming sense of safety I felt in his presence showing his words out as false. So naturally when he looked up to read my eyes, there was no trace of fear in them. He was weeks too late for that fear.

"You remember?" he asked, his angel's face grave.

"Yes." I was calm.

"And yet here you sit." There was a trace of disbelief in his voice; he raised one eyebrow.

"Yeah. Here I sit. Spared by you." I paused. "And rescued by you from worse than what I saw in your eyes that day. Because somehow you knew how to find me...?" I prompted.

He pressed his lips together, staring at me through narrowed eyes, deciding again. His eyes flashed down to my full plate, and then back to me.

"If you eat, I'll talk," he bargained.

I quickly scooped up another ravioli and popped it in my mouth.

"It's harder than it should be—keeping track of you. Usually I can find someone very easily, once I've heard their mind before." He looked at me anxiously, and I realized I had frozen, ravioli-laden fork midair. I made myself swallow, then continued the mechanics of eating, barely tasting my food.

"Since I can’t hear you, I was keeping tabs on Jessica, not carefully—like I said, only you could find trouble in Port Angeles—and at first I didn't notice when you took off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren't with her anymore, I went looking for you at the bookstore I saw in her head. I could tell that you hadn't gone in, and that you'd gone south... and I knew you would have to turn around soon. So I was just waiting for you, randomly searching through the thoughts of people on the street—to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried… but I was strangely anxious…." He was lost in thought, staring past me, seeing things I couldn't imagine.

"I started to drive in circles, still… listening. The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then—" He stopped, clenching his teeth together in sudden fury. He made an effort to calm himself.

"Then?" I whispered. He continued to stare over my head.

"I heard what he was—what they were thinking," he growled, his upper lip curling slightly back over his teeth. "I saw your face in his mind. Other things, what he pictured." He suddenly leaned forward, one elbow appearing on the table, his hand covering his eyes. The movement was so quick it startled me. I looked quickly around, forgetting that we were all but alone.

"It was very... hard—you can't imagine how hard—for me to simply take you away and leave them… alive."

I could imagine, though. I could understand. I pushed my own anger down, though, listening. His voice was muffled by his arm. "I could have let you go with Jessica and Angela, but I was afraid if you left me alone, I would go looking for them," he admitted in a whisper.

I sat, my jaw clamped shut. I wanted him to take me to find them. I wanted to kill them myself. After all, I’d all but seen my would-be-murderer’s thoughts as well, hadn’t I, dancing behind his eyes when they were inches from mine, broadcast in the swipe of his rank tongue over his lip. My hands shook in my lap and I stopped them. I made my stiff back relax against the back of the seat. It was clearly important to him not to kill these men. I didn’t doubt for an instant that he was capable. But he was unwilling. He fought whatever need he felt for it. And I would respect that. Would fight my own. His face remained in his hand, and he was as still as if he'd actually been carved from the marble that his skin only hinted at.

Finally he looked up, his eyes seeking mine, full of his own questions.

"Are you ready to go home?" he asked.

"I'm ready to leave," I qualified, overly grateful that we had the hour-long ride home together. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to him.

The waitress appeared as if she'd been called. Or watching.

"How are we doing?" she asked Edward.

"We're ready for the check, thank you." His voice was quiet, rougher, still reflecting the strain of our conversation. It seemed to muddle her. I couldn’t even care at that point. He looked up, waiting.

"S-sure," she stuttered. "Here you go." She pulled a small leather folder from the front pocket of her black apron and handed it to him.

There was a bill in his hand already. He slipped it into the folder and handed it right back to her.

"No change." He smiled. Then he stood up, and I scrambled awkwardly to my feet.

She smiled invitingly at him again. "You have a nice evening."

He didn't look away from me as he thanked her. I knew because I’d barely looked away from him.

He walked close beside me to the door, still careful not to touch me. I remembered unwillingly what Jessica had said about her relationship with Mike, how they were stealing bases, whereas me and Edward were still in the dugout or something. I sighed. Edward seemed to hear me, and he looked down curiously. I didn’t elaborate though, eyes firmly on the sidewalk and so very grateful that he really didn't seem to be able to know what I was thinking.

He opened the passenger door, though thankfully didn’t go so far as to hold it for me, seeming to think better of it midway, like it was a habit that he had to make a conscious effort to suppress, looking apologetic as he made his way to his side of the car. I watched him walk, a tiger’s graceful step. I probably should have been used to his feline grace by now—but I wasn't. I had a feeling Edward wasn't the kind of person anyone got used to.

Once inside the car, he started the engine and turned the heater on high. It had gotten very cold. Apparently, the good weather was at an end. I was warm in his jacket, though, breathing in the scent of him that lingered on it.

Edward pulled out through the traffic, without an apparent glance, flipping around to head toward the freeway.

"Now," he said significantly, "it's your turn."


	10. Theory

"I have just one more," I pleaded, as Edward accelerated much too quickly down the quiet street. He didn't seem to be paying any attention to the road. He didn’t seem to need to.

He sighed.

"One," he agreed. His lips pressed together into a cautious line.

"Well... you said you knew I hadn't gone into the bookstore, and that I had gone south. I was just wondering how you knew that."

He looked away, deliberating.

"And here I thought we were past all this evasiveness," I said, sighing dramatically.

He almost smiled.

"Fine, then, but you won’t like it.” A pause. “I followed your scent." He looked at the road as he spoke, which gave me time to figure out what expression my face had contorted into in its shock and repair it to something I could stand Edward seeing. There really wasn’t anything to say to something like that, so I didn’t reply, merely filing the data carefully away for future study. I tried to refocus. I wasn't ready to let him be finished, now that he was finally explaining things.

"And you didn't really answer one of my first questions..." I tried.

He looked at me with disapproval. "Which one?"

"How does it work—the mind-reading thing? Can you read anybody's mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family... ?" I felt silly, asking for clarification on make-believe.

"That's more than one," he pointed out.

“It’s one question with many angles,” I defended, trying to figure out how to twiddle my thumbs again as I gazed at him, waiting. I didn’t have the coordination for it.

"It's just me that can read minds. And I can't hear anyone, anywhere. I have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone's...'voice' is, the farther away I can hear them. But still, no more than a few miles." He paused thoughtfully. "It's a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It's just a hum—a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, that is, and then what they're thinking becomes clear.

"Most of the time I tune it all out—it can be very distracting. And it's easier to seem normal," he frowned as he said the word, "when I'm not accidentally answering someone's thoughts rather than their words."

"Why can't you hear me?" I asked, mostly wondering aloud.

He looked at me, his eyes enigmatic.

"I don't know," he murmured. "The only guess I have is that maybe your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I'm only getting FM." He grinned at me, suddenly amused.

"Oh, is that all. My brain’s just broken. Figures." The words bothered me more than they should—than I let on—probably because his speculation hit home. I'd always suspected as much, and it embarrassed me to have it confirmed. “Always knew I was a freak.”

"I hear voices in my mind and you're worried that you're the freak," he laughed. "Don't worry, it's just a theory..." His face tightened. "Which brings us back to you."

I sighed. How to begin?

"Aren't we past all the evasions now?" he mocked softly.

I looked away from his face for the first time, trying to find words. Happened to notice the speedometer.

"A hundred miles an hour? Really?!" I burst out.

"What's wrong?" He was startled. But the car didn't decelerate.

"You're going a hundred miles an hour!" I repeated, exasperated. “In a fifty-five!” I shot a panicky glance out the window, but it was too dark to see much. The road was only visible in the long patch of bluish brightness from the headlights. The forest along both sides of the road was like a black wall—as hard as a wall of steel if we veered off the road at this speed.

"Relax, Beau." He rolled his eyes, still not slowing.

"There are deer! Deer are a thing!" I all but bleated, as if this explained everything.

"We're not going to crash."

I tried to modulate my voice, finding a new reason to be disturbed by his speed. "But why are you in such a hurry?"

His forehead wrinkled for a moment and I finally felt the car slow. A bit. "I always drive like this." He turned to me.

"I know that you probably have the reflexes of a cheetah, or something, but I’d really be much happier if your eyes were on the road."

"I've never been in an accident, Beau—I've never even gotten a ticket." He grinned and tapped his forehead. "Built-in radar detector."

"Wellll." I felt moderately safer. I wasn’t sure how long he’d been driving, but from his pride I would guess it was somewhere between a while and a really long time. "Fine. Whatever. I can’t help myself, alright? Must be my cop genes—born abiding by traffic laws. Though, to be fair, if you were to turn us into a Volvo pretzel around a tree trunk,  _ you _ could probably just walk away."

"Probably," he agreed with a short, hard laugh. "But you can't." He sighed, and I watched the needle drop further. "Happy?"

"Ish."

"I hate driving so slowly," he muttered.

I looked askance at the needle as it hovered near seventy. "Slowly, huh?"

"Enough commentary on my driving," he snapped. "I'm still waiting for your latest theory."

I swallowed. He looked over at me, his honey eyes unexpectedly gentle.

"I won't laugh," he promised.

"Or be horribly offended?"

"Is it that bad?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

He waited. I was looking down at my hands, so I couldn't see his expression.

"Go ahead." His voice was calm.

"I don't even know how to start," I admitted.

"Why don't you start at the beginning... you said you didn't come up with this on your own."

"No."

"What got you started—a book? A movie?" he probed.

"No—it was Saturday, at the beach." I risked a reconnaissance glance at his face. He looked puzzled.

"I ran into...kind of a family friend—Julz Black," I continued. "Her dad and Charlie have been friends since forever."

His confusion was un-ebbed.

"Her dad is one of the Quileute elders." I watched him carefully at that. His confused expression stilled, sort of freezing in place. "We went for a walk—" I edited the copious amounts of manipulative flirting that I was still kind of guilty about out of the story "—and she was telling me some old legends—trying to scare me, I think. She told me this one..." I hesitated.

"Go on," he said.

"About vampires." I realized I was whispering. I couldn't make myself look at his face now. But I saw his knuckles tighten convulsively on the wheel.

"And you immediately thought of me?" Still calm.

"No. Backing up a bit, she... may have been manipulated, by me, into telling the story."

He was silent, staring at the road.

I wasn’t going to throw Julz under the bus. That treaty that she had so laughingly talked of seemed much more binding tonight, trapped in this speeding car with someone who I now knew with certainty from his reaction to the word, was a vampire—which were real things apparently oh my god.

"She never mentioned your names, just told me the story of the cold ones. It was only later that I put it all together," I said, lying rather smoothly if I did say so myself.

"Why did you ask her about the cold ones?"

"Well, that’s how I connected it, see I didn’t really. Logan said something about you—was trying to provoke me. And an older boy from the tribe said your family didn't come to the reservation—only it sounded like he meant something different, like you weren’t  _ welcome _ . So I got Julz alone and asked her what was up with that," I explained, still not admitting to the flirting, “and she said she didn’t know, then she started telling me this story about vampires and their clan’s rivalry with them. But I think I tricked her into telling me more than she was supposed to.”

He startled me by laughing. I glared up at him. He was laughing, but his eyes were fierce, staring ahead.

"Tricked her how?" he asked.

"I tried flirting—it worked better than I thought it would." Disbelief colored my tone as I remembered.

"I'd like to have seen that." He chuckled darkly. "And you accused me of dazzling people—poor Julz Black."

I felt my face go hot, looked out my window into the night.

"What did you do then?" he asked after a minute.

"Looked it up on the internet. I’m a child of my age."

"And did the internet convince you?" His voice sounded barely interested. But his hands were clamped hard onto the steering wheel.

"No. Nothing fit, and most of it was tortured goth kids playing pretend. And then..." I stopped, remembering the moment. The clarity.

"What?"

"I decided that it didn't matter," I whispered.

"It didn't matter?" His tone made me look up—I had finally broken through his carefully composed mask. His face was incredulous, with just a hint of the anger I'd feared.

"No," I said softly. "It didn’t. I don’t care what you are."

A hard, mocking edge entered his voice. "You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not human?"

"No.” I shook my head. “Because what you are matters a hell of a lot less than  _ who _ you are, and when I look at you I see  _ you _ , Edward.  _ Who _ you are. Not  _ what _ . And I like who I see."

He was silent, staring straight ahead again. His face was bleak and cold, with just the barest hint of hope being weighed down under all the rest.

"You angry?" I asked, suddenly tired. "I shouldn't have..." Didn’t know how I was gonna finish that sentence. I’d meant everything I’d said.

"No," he said, but his tone was as hard as his face. "I'd rather know what you're thinking—even if what you're thinking is insane."

"Insane I can live with. I’m not wrong," I challenged.

"That's not what I was referring to. 'It doesn't matter'!" he quoted, gritting his teeth together.

"So you are a vampire?" I asked, for clarification.

"Does it matter?"

I took a deep breath.

"No, not really." I paused. "But I am curious." My voice, at least, was composed.

He was suddenly resigned. "What are you curious about?"

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen," he answered promptly.

"Yes, and how long have you been seventeen?"

His lips twitched as he stared at the road. "A while," he admitted at last.

"Okay." I smiled, pleased that he was still being honest with me. He stared at me with watchful eyes, much as he had before, when he was worried I would go into shock. I smiled wider to let him know that there was so no way that would be happening tonight, and he frowned.

"Don't laugh—but how can you come out during the daytime?"

He laughed anyway. "Myth."

"By the power of Myth?"

"Vampires being repelled or burnt by the sun is a myth."

"So, no coffins?"

"Myth." He hesitated for a moment, and a peculiar tone entered his voice. "I can't sleep."

It took me a minute to absorb that. "At all? Ever?"

"Never," he said, his voice nearly inaudible. He turned to look at me with a wistful expression. The golden eyes held mine, and my thoughts went all wooly. I stared back at him until he looked away.

"You haven't asked me the most important question yet." His voice was hard now, and when he looked at me again his eyes were cold.

I blinked, still dazed. "Which would be?"

"You aren't concerned about my diet?" he asked sardonically.

"Oh," I murmured, "that."

"Yes, that." His voice was bleak. "Don't you want to know if I drink blood?"

I flinched. "Well, Julz said something about that in the story. I was wondering..."

"What did Julz say?" he asked flatly.

"In the story she told, the group of vampires their tribe saw fit to make an alliance with didn't...hunt people. She said that her tribe could share the land with them, that they were less dangerous than the others, because they only hunted animals."

"She said we weren't dangerous?" His voice was deeply skeptical.

"She said less dangerous. But the Quileutes still didn't want you on their land, just in case."

He looked forward, but I couldn't tell if he was watching the road or not.

"So was she right? If the group of vampires in her story was you, then you don’t hunt people?" I tried to keep my voice as even as possible.

"The Quileutes have a long memory," he whispered.

I took it as a confirmation.

"Don't let that make you complacent, though," he warned me. "They're right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous."

"Of course you are. You’re predators."

"Yes.” And he was silent for a moment. Looked thoughtful. “We try," he explained slowly. "We're usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you."

"So we’re currently amidst a mistake?" I heard the sadness weave into my voice, but I didn't know if he could as well.

"A very dangerous one," he murmured.

We were both silent then. I watched the headlights twist with the curves of the road. They moved too fast; it didn't look real, it looked like a video game. I was aware of the time slipping away so quickly, like the black road beneath us, and now I was worried that I’d never have another chance to be alone with him like this again at all, let alone openly, the walls between us gone for once. His words hinted at an end, and I didn’t welcome the idea. I couldn't waste one minute I had with him.

"If we’re never going to get another mistake like this, could you do me a favor and drive the speed limit?” I asked, not expecting compliance really, just craving it. Feeling the car slow once again, I allowed myself a soft smile, glad of the meager bit of time I’d gained. “Tell me more?" I begged, not caring what he said, just as long as I could hear his voice again.

He looked at me quickly, startled by the change in my tone. "What more do you want to know?"

"Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people," I suggested, my voice still tinged with desperation. My eyes itched and my throat burned, and I fought against the grief that was trying to overpower me.

"I don't want to be a monster." His voice was very low.

"So animals. But they’re not a complete replacement, are they?"

He paused. "I can't be sure, of course, but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the hunger—or rather thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time." His tone turned ominous. "Sometimes it's more difficult than others."

"Is it very difficult for you now?" I asked.

He sighed. "Yes."

"But not as difficult as it would be if you were hungry," I said, knowing that he had recently eaten.

"Why do you think that I’m not?"

"Your eyes. I told you I had a theory. Bad mood when they’re dark, good mood when they’re light. Hunger makes everyone grumpy, I don’t see why vampires should be the exception."

He chuckled. "You are observant, aren't you?"

I didn't answer; I just listened to the sound of his laugh, committing it to memory.

"Were you hunting this weekend, with Emmett?" I asked when it was quiet again.

"Yes." He paused for a second, as if deciding whether or not to say something. "I didn't want to leave, but it was necessary. It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."

"You didn’t want to leave?"

"It makes me... anxious... to be away from you." His eyes were gentle but intense and they seemed to be making my legs stop working. It was a good thing that I was sitting. "I wasn't joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed." He shook his head, and then seemed to remember something. "Well, not totally unscathed."

"What?"

"Your hands," he reminded me. I looked down at my palms, at the almost-healed scrapes across the heels of my hands. His eyes missed nothing.

"I fell," I sighed.

"That's what I thought." His lips curved up at the corners. "I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse—and that possibility tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days. I really got on Emmett's nerves." He smiled ruefully at me.

"Three days? You didn’t get back today?"

"No, we got back Sunday."

"Then why weren't any of you in school?" I was frustrated, almost angry as I thought of how much disappointment I’d suffered because he’d been absent from school.

"Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't. But I can't go out in the sunlight—at least, not where anyone can see."

"Why not?"

"I'll have to show you sometime," he promised.

The promise of future time made me relax a bit and I thought for a long moment.

"You couldn’t call me?" I asked, keeping the frustration mostly out of my tone.

He was puzzled. "But I knew you were safe."

"But  _ I _ didn't know  _ you  _ were. I didn’t believe that you were a vampire most of that time and... And there were bears. And I—" I hesitated, dropping my eyes.

"What?" His velvety voice was compelling.

"I didn't like it. Not seeing you. It makes me anxious, too." I’d been telling him I cared about him all night long. Why should this be the confession that made me blush? I covered my left cheek with my hand and absorbed the excess heat, trying vainly to hide it.

Edward was quiet. I glanced up, apprehensive, and saw that his expression was pained.

"Ah," he groaned quietly. "This is wrong."

I panicked at his response. "No it isn’t. What did I say?"

"Don't you see? It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved." He turned his anguished eyes to the road, his words flowing almost too fast for me to understand. "I don't want to hear that you feel that way." His voice was low but urgent. His words cut me. "It's wrong. It's not safe. I'm dangerous, Beau—please, grasp that."

"No." I skipped annoyed and went straight to righteous fury.

"I'm serious," he growled.

"So am I. Do you think of me as some idiot? Some...child? That when I say that it doesn't matter what you are, it’s because I’m too stupid to grasp what you are, how dangerous you could be? I see. I grasp it, quite thoroughly. I just don’t care. It's too late."

His voice whipped out, low and harsh. "Never say that."

I clenched my jaw and was glad he couldn't know how much that stung. I stared out at the road. We must be close now. He was driving much too fast again, as if to spite me, or just to get rid of me.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, his voice still raw. I just shook my head, not sure if I could speak. I could feel his gaze on my face, but I kept my eyes forward.

"Are you crying?" He sounded appalled. I hadn't even realized. I quickly swiped my hand across my cheek, and sure enough, traitorous tears were there on my fingers.

"Shit. No," I said, my voice cracking mid expletive.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him reach toward me hesitantly with his right hand, but then he stopped and placed it slowly back on the steering wheel.

"I'm sorry." His voice burned with regret. I knew he wasn't just apologizing for the words that had upset me.

The darkness slipped by us in silence.

"Tell me something," he said after another minute, and I could hear him struggle to use a lighter tone.

"Yes?"

"What were you thinking tonight, just before I came around the corner? I couldn't understand your expression—you didn't look scared, really, you looked like you were concentrating very hard on something."

"I was trying to remember how to smash his nose into his brain, the one that was holding my wrist." I ghosted a hand over the bruises on said wrist, thankful that in the cool weather they’d be easy enough to hide. A surge of hate bolted through me, and I was disappointed that I hadn’t at least been able to deal an equal amount of damage before my miraculous rescue.

"You were going to fight them?" This upset him. "Didn't you think about running?"

"I tried and failed that, yeah. At that point, when you came, it was down to debilitating or, you know, killing, as many of them as I could before they could do what they were trying to do to me," I admitted—still unable to put into words what that was, what they were trying to do—worried of all things that he’d be upset by the violent place my head had been at in that moment.

"What about yelling for help?"

"Help comes to those who help themselves. No one runs toward the screams, Edward. Not anymore."

He shook his head. "You were right before—I'm definitely fighting fate trying to keep you alive."

I sighed, not sorry. We were slowing, passing into the boundaries of Forks. It had taken less than twenty minutes.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" I demanded.

"Yes—I have a paper due, too." He smiled. "I'll save you a seat at lunch."

It was silly, after everything we'd been through tonight, how that little promise made me unable to speak, another lump in my throat.

We were in front of Charlie's house. The lights were on, my truck in its place, everything utterly normal. It was like waking from a dream. He stopped the car, but I didn't move.

"Do you promise to be there tomorrow?"

"I promise."

I considered that for a moment, then nodded. I pulled his jacket off, taking one last whiff.

"You can keep it—you don't have a jacket for tomorrow," he reminded me.

I handed it back to him. "I really, really, don't want to have to explain to Charlie."

"Oh, right." He grinned.

I hesitated, my hand on the door handle, stalling.

"Beau?" he asked in a different tone—serious, but hesitant.

"Yeah?" I turned back to him too quickly.

"Will you promise me something?"

"Yes," I said, and instantly regretted my unconditional agreement. What if he asked me to stay away from him? I couldn't keep that promise.

"Don't go into the woods alone."

I stared at him in blank confusion. "Okay. But why?"

He frowned, and his eyes were tight as he stared past me out the window.

"I'm not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let's leave it at that."

I shuddered slightly at the sudden bleakness in his voice, but I was relieved. This, at least, was an easy promise to honor. I nodded renewed agreement.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he sighed, and I knew he wanted me to leave now.

"Right." I opened the door unwillingly.

"Beau?" I turned and he was leaning toward me, his pale, glorious face just inches from mine. My heart stopped beating. His eyes looked tortured, conflicted, they were molten at first sight but slowly cooled.

"Sleep well," he said, holding rigidly still. His breath blew in my face, stunning me. It was the same exquisite scent that clung to his jacket, but in a more concentrated form. I blinked, dazed. He pulled away with what looked like a great effort of will. My breath came fast, blood draining from my head to parts further south.

I was unable to move until my brain was able to scavenge some oxygen for itself. Then I stepped out of the car awkwardly, pants tight, and suddenly worried over his earlier comments on his ability to track me by my smell. What did he smell now? I thought I heard him chuckle, but the sound was too quiet for me to be certain.

He waited till I had stumbled to the front door, and then I heard his engine quietly rev. I turned to watch the silver car disappear around the corner, and shivered. It was definitely cold now—probably a good thing, considering my state.

I waited till I was decent, then unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Charlie called from the living room. "Beau?"

"Yeah, Dad, it's me." I walked in to see him. He was watching a baseball game.

"You're home early."

"Yeah?" I was surprised.

"It's not even eight yet," he told me. "Did you have fun with your friends?"

"Yeah—it was lots of fun." I tried to remember back what seemed weeks ago to the fun night out with friends that I had left for. "They both found dresses."

Charlie looked at me hard for a long moment.

"Are you all right, kid?"

"I'm just tired. I did a lot of walking. And carrying."

"Well, maybe you should go lie down." He sounded concerned. I wondered belatedly what my face looked like.

"I'm just going to call Jessica first."

"Weren't you just with her?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes—but I left my jacket in her car. I want to make sure she brings it tomorrow."

"Well, give her a chance to get home first."

"Right," I agreed.

I went to the kitchen and fell, exhausted, into a chair. I was really feeling dizzy now. I wondered if I was going to go into shock after all. I fought it, unwilling to prove Edward right.

The phone rang suddenly, startling me. I yanked it off the hook.

"Hello?" I asked breathlessly.

"Beau?"

"Hey, Jess, I was just going to call you."

"You made it home already?" She sounded a little surprised. “I just made it home. Did something happen? God, how fast was he driving, anyway?”

"Fast,” I confirmed. “No happenings. And hey, I left my jacket in your car—could you bring it to me tomorrow?"

"Sure. But things happened, Beau. Don’t do this to me. Give in and spill!" she demanded.

"Um, tomorrow—in Trig, okay?"

She caught on quickly. "Your dad’s there?"

"Uh huh."

"Okay fine, I'll talk to you tomorrow, then. Bye!" I could hear the impatience in her voice.

"See ya."

I walked up the stairs slowly, a heavy stupor settling over me. I went through the repetitive routine of getting ready for bed without paying any attention to what I was doing, which was pretty close to normal, actually. It wasn't until I was in the shower—the water too hot, burning my skin—that I realized I was freezing. I shuddered violently for several minutes before the steaming spray could finally relax my rigid muscles. Then I stood in the shower, too tired to do much serious cleaning, until the hot water began to run out.

I stumbled out, slinging a towel around my waist. In an attempt to hold the heat from the water in so that the aching shivers couldn't return, I dove naked under my blankets, curling into a ball, and hugging myself to keep in the warm. A few small shudders trembled through me regardless.

My mind swirled dizzily, full of images, some too quickly changing for my conscious mind to process, and some, the ones that lingered, I fought to repress. Nothing seemed clear, but as I fell gradually closer to unconsciousness, a few certainties became evident.

About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was part of him—and I didn't know how large a part—that thirsted for my blood. And the third, the most disturbing of all, was the fact that I was unconditionally, undeniably, irrevocably, in love with him.

Shit.


	11. Interrogations

It was really hard, in the morning, to argue with the part of me that was sure that last night was a dream. Logic wasn't on my side, certainly not common sense. There was no clear evidence, no lasting physical mark. I clung to the parts that I lacked the imaginative power to have come up with—like his smell. I’d never smelled anything like it, and I wasn’t creative enough to have dreamed up something like that.

It was foggy and dark outside my window, which was suddenly the absolute perfect weather—he had no reason not to be in school today. I dressed in my heavy clothes, remembering I didn't have a jacket—the only tangible reminder that my memory was real.

When I got downstairs, Charlie was gone again—I was running later than I'd realized. I swallowed a granola bar in three bites, chased it down with milk straight from the carton, and then hurried out the door. Hopefully the rain would hold off until I could find Jessica.

It was unusually foggy; the air was almost smoky with it. And it was suddenly beautiful, though the mist was ice cold where it clung to the exposed skin on my face and neck. I couldn't wait to get the heat going in my truck. It was such a thick fog that I had walked a few feet down the driveway before I realized that there was a car in it: a silver car. My heart thudded, stuttered, and then picked up again in double time.

I didn't see where he came from, but suddenly he was there, leaning, arms crossed, against the passenger door.

"Do you want to ride with me today?" he asked, apparently amused by my expression as he caught me by surprise yet again. There was uncertainty in his voice. It was clear he meant to give me a choice—I was free to refuse, and it was also clear that part of him hoped for that. In vain.

"I do want; thanks," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. As I stepped into the warm car, I noticed his tan jacket was slung over the headrest of the passenger seat. The door closed behind me, and, sooner than should be possible, he was sitting next to me, starting the car.

"I brought the jacket for you. I didn't want you to get sick or something." His voice was guarded. I noticed that he wore no jacket himself, just a light gray knit V-neck shirt with long sleeves. Again, the fabric clung to his perfectly muscled chest. It really was a colossal tribute to his face that it kept my eyes away from his body so well.

"I hardly ever get sick," I said, though I dutifully pulled my arms through the sleeves, curious to see if the scent could possibly be as good as I remembered. It was better. “I’m not quite so fragile as all that.”

"Aren’t you?" he contradicted in a voice so low I wasn't sure if he meant for me to hear.

We drove through the fog-shrouded streets, fast, but I was beginning to get used to that. The mood grew maddeningly awkward. For me, at least. Last night all the walls were down... almost all. I didn't know if we were still being as candid today. It left me with more of the vague sense that last night had been merely a dream, left me tongue-tied. I waited for him to speak.

He turned to smirk at me. "What, no twenty questions today?"

"Does that bother you? My questions?" I asked, relieved to be free of the silence at last.

"Not as much as your reactions do." He looked like he was joking, but I couldn't be sure.

I frowned. "I react poorly, do I?"

"No, that's the problem. You take everything so coolly—it's unnatural. It makes me wonder what you're really thinking."

"Admit it, you love the mystery. And I always end up telling you exactly what I’m thinking, anyways."

"You edit," he accused.

"Not… much."

"Enough to drive me insane."

"It seems like you wouldn’t want to hear what I edit," I mumbled, almost whispered. As soon as the words were out, I regretted them. The pain in my voice was very faint to my ears; I could only hope he hadn't noticed it.

He didn't respond, and I wondered if I had ruined the mood that had just been created. His face was unreadable as we drove into the school parking lot. Something occurred to me belatedly.

"Where's the rest of your family?" I asked—glad to be alone with him again after last night’s declaration that alone time was a bad idea but remembering that his car was usually full.

"They took Rosalie's car." He shrugged as he parked next to a glossy red convertible with the top up. "A bit ostentatious, isn't it?"

"A bit," I breathed, a bit awed. I wasn’t even a car guy. "If she has that, why does she ride with you?"

"Like I said, it's ostentatious. We try to blend in—"

"Unsuccessfully."

I laughed and shook my head as we got out of the car. I wasn't late anymore; his hyperactive driving had gotten me to school in plenty of time. "So why use it today, in particular, if it's more conspicuous?"

"Hadn't you noticed? I'm breaking all the rules now." He met me at the front of the car, staying very close to my side as we walked onto campus. My body wanted to close that little distance, to reach out and touch him. My entire side tingled with the promise of the feeling. I denied it.

"So why do you have cars like that at all?" I wondered aloud. "If you're looking for privacy?"

"An indulgence," he admitted with an impish smile. "We all like to drive fast."

"Rich people," I muttered under my breath.

Under the shelter of the cafeteria roof's overhang, Jessica was waiting, her eyes about to bug out of their sockets. Over her arm, bless her, was my jacket.

"Hey, Jess," I called, when we were a few feet away. "Thanks." She handed me my jacket without speaking.

"Good morning, Jessica," Edward said politely. It wasn't really his fault that his voice was so irresistible. Or what his eyes were capable of.

"Er... hi." She shifted her wide eyes to me, trying to gather her jumbled thoughts. "I guess I'll see you in Trig." She gave me a meaningful look, and I suppressed a sigh. What on earth was I going to tell her?

"Yep."

She walked away, pausing twice to peek back over her shoulder at us.

"What are you going to tell her?" Edward murmured.

"You were reading her mind?" I hissed.

"I can't help it," he pouted. Then he tilted his head, concentrating it seemed, and understanding brightened his eyes. "She'll be waiting to ambush you in class."

I groaned as I pulled off his jacket and handed it to him, replacing it with my own. He folded it over his arm.

"So what are you going to tell her?"

"That depends," I said archly, seeing if his usually annoying talent could prove useful. "What does she want to know?"

He shook his head, grinning wickedly. "That's not fair."

"No, you knowing and not sharing—that's what’s not fair."

He deliberated for a moment as we walked. We stopped outside the door to my first class.

"She wants to know if we're secretly dating. And she wants to know how you feel about me," he finally said.

"Should I— Do you not want me talking about you and me? Are we a you and me, even, by the way?" I tried to keep my sudden nerves out of my voice and off my face, failing miserably. People were passing us on their way to class, probably staring, but I was barely aware of them.

"Hmmm." He paused to catch a stray lock of hair that had escaped from where it had been tucked behind my ear and was playing in the wind. Returned it—with an absent brush of his fingers across my cheek as he did—to where it belonged. My heart spluttered like my truck’s engine. "I suppose you could say yes to the first… if you don't mind—it's easier than any other explanation."

"So my yes would be a cover," I said in a faint voice.

"As of now, yes, technically. And as for her other question… well, I'll be listening to hear the answer to that one myself." One side of his mouth pulled up into my favorite uneven smile. I couldn't catch my breath soon enough to respond to that remark. He turned and walked away.

"I'll see you at lunch," he called over his shoulder. Three people walking in the door stopped to stare at me.

I hurried into class, flushed and irritated. People were staring. I had a secret-not-secret gay maybe-relationship that was a cover for something that would undoubtedly be even more upsetting to these small town school kids. And now I was even more worried about what I was going to say to Jessica. I sat in my usual seat, slamming my bag down in aggravation.

"Morning, sweetheart," Mike drawled from the seat next to me. I looked up to see a smug and knowing look on her face. "How was the girl’s night?"

"The trip? It was..." There was no honest way to sum it up. "Great," I finished lamely. "Jessica got a dress."

"Did she say anything about Monday night?" she asked, her eyes brightening. I smiled at the turn the conversation had taken.

"She said she’s madly in love with you and wants to have your clone baby," I assured her.

"She had a good time?" she surmised, excited.

"Most definitely."

Mr. Mason called the class to order then, asking us to turn in our papers. English and then Government passed in a blur, while I worried about how to explain things to Jessica and agonized over whether Edward would really be listening to what I said through the medium of Jess's thoughts. His little talent was proving pretty inconvenient—when it wasn't saving my life.

The fog had almost dissolved by the end of the second hour, but the day was still dark with low, oppressing clouds. I smiled up at the sky.

Edward was right, of course. When I walked into Trig, Jessica was sitting in the back row, nearly bouncing off her seat in agitation. I reluctantly went to sit by her, trying to convince myself it would be better to get it over with as soon as possible.

"Tell me everything!" she commanded before I was in the seat.

"What do you want to know?" I hedged.

"Everything, I told you! What happened last night?"

"He bought me dinner and then he drove me home."

She glared at me for my unhelpful terseness. "How did you get home so fast?"

"He drives fast. It’s a habit, I guess, and an annoying one. I kept telling him to slow down but when he didn’t I couldn’t help feeling like he was trying to get rid of me." I hoped he heard that.

"Was it like a date—did you tell him to meet you there?"

I hadn't thought of that. "No—it was definitely a surprise seeing him there."

Her perfectly manicured eyebrow raised at my tone, though she didn’t press, surprisingly. She had other concerns.

"But he picked you up for school today?" she probed.

"That was a surprise, too. He noticed I’d lost my jacket last night," I explained.

"So are you going out again?"

"He offered to drive me to Seattle Saturday because he thinks my truck is singlehandedly killing the planet—does that count?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"Well, then, yes."

"W-o-w." She exaggerated the word into three syllables. "Edward Cullen."

"I know," I agreed. Wow didn't even cover it.

"Wait!" Her hands flew up, palms toward me like she was stopping traffic. "Has he kissed you? You want him to kiss you, right? We’re at that point in accepting your fate as a gay, yes?"

"No," I mumbled. "To the having kissed. I want him to; I just don’t think it’s like that for him."

She looked disappointed. I'm sure I did, too.

"But he winks at you! That has to mean—” Her mind seemed to be working full-tilt. “Do you think maybe Saturday...?" She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"I really doubt it." The discontent in my voice was poorly disguised.

"So, no kissing means lots of talking. What did you talk about?" She pushed for more information in a whisper. Class had started but Mr. Varner wasn't paying close attention and we weren't the only ones still talking.

"I don't know, Jess, lots of stuff," I whispered back. "We talked about the English essay a little." A very, very little. I think he mentioned it in passing.

"Please, Beau," she begged. "Edward is the hottest creature this school has ever seen, and you, my adorable little bud, just happen to be having a torrid manly affair with him. It would be selfish of you not to give me some details."

"Fine, you reprehensible pervert, I've got one,” I relented. “You should have seen the waitress flirting with him—it was over the top. But he didn't pay any attention to her at all." He deserved a bit of a reward for that.

"That's a good sign," she nodded. "Was she pretty?"

"Gorgeous—and probably nineteen or twenty."

"An even better sign. He’s only got eyes for you. He  _ so _ likes you."

"I think so, but it's hard to tell. He could just not be interested in ridiculously attractive women. Or, like, women in general. It doesn’t mean he’s interested in… me.” I gestured at myself in explanation. “He's just always so cryptic," I threw in for his benefit, sighing.

"I don't know how you're brave enough to be alone with him," she breathed.

"What do you mean?" I was shocked, but she wouldn’t understand why.

"He's so… intimidating. I mean, yeah, he’s hot, but he’s too perfect to imagine having a tickle fight with, you know? He’s like the really nice sitting room that no one can ever use because it’s so nice. I wouldn't know what to say to him. I’d feel like my presence would contaminate him, somehow." She made a face, probably remembering this morning or last night, when he'd turned the overwhelming force of his eyes on her.

"I do have some trouble with incoherency when I'm around him," I admitted. “And I’m quite aware that I’m a messy living room with duct tape on the couch arm and stains on the carpet next to him.”

"You’re not, though, Beau. You’re definitely well decorated, just comfy and inviting at the same time, you know? You’re the inviting kind of hot." Jessica shrugged as if this explained everything. Which, in her book, it probably did. “Your hot works with his, though.”

"There's a lot more to him than hotness."

"Really? I wouldn’t know. My friend doesn’t tell me things."

I wished I had let it go. Almost as much as I was hoping he'd been kidding about listening in.

"I can't explain it right...but, as good as the face is, what’s behind it is so much better." The vampire who wanted to be good—who ran around saving people's lives so he wouldn't be a monster…. I stared toward the front of the room.

"That’s possible?" She wondered, awed at the thought.

I ignored her, trying to look like I was paying attention to Mr. Varner.

"So you like him." It wasn’t a question.

"I do, indeed," I said fondly.

"Really like him?" she pressed, curious.

"Yeah," I said, smiling what was probably shyly. I felt shy, and scared, now that I’d said what I’d said, knowing that he was listening, knowing how he tended to react when I made the stupid mistake of not running from his presence. I hoped that he couldn’t see the shyness through her thoughts.

She'd had enough with the vague answers. "How much do you like him?"

"Too much, apparently," I whispered back, thinking again of his reactions in the car. "More than he likes me, obviously. But I don't see how I can help that." I sighed, casting more thoughts aside, one stinging doubt blending into the next.

Then, thankfully, Mr. Varner called on Jessica for an answer.

She didn't get a chance to start on the subject again during class and as soon as the bell rang, I took evasive action.

"In English, Mike asked me if you said anything about Monday night," I told her.

"Yeah? What did you say?!" she gasped, completely sidetracked.

"Told her all about your mad declarations of love and willingness to bear her young through the intervention of science—she looked pleased."

"Tell me exactly what she said, and your exact answer!"

We spent the rest of the walk dissecting sentence structures and most of Spanish on a minute description of Mike's facial expressions. I wouldn't have helped draw it out for as long as I did if I wasn't worried about the subject returning to me.

And then the bell rang for lunch. As I jumped up out of my seat, shoving my books roughly in my bag, my anxious expression must have tipped Jessica off.

"You're not sitting with us today, are you?" she guessed.

"Probably no." I couldn't be sure that he wouldn't disappear inconveniently again.

But outside the door to our Spanish class, leaning against the wall—looking more like a Greek god, or a spotless sitting room, than anyone had a right to—Edward was waiting for me. Jessica took one look, rolled her eyes, and departed.

"See you later, Beau." Her voice was thick with implications. I might have to turn off the ringer on the phone.

"Hello." His voice was amused and irritated at the same time. He had been listening, it was obvious.

"Hey. Again."

I couldn't think of anything else to say, and he didn't speak—biding his time, I presumed—so it was a quiet walk to the cafeteria. Walking with Edward through the crowded lunchtime rush was a lot like my first day here; everyone stared.

He led the way into the line, still not speaking, though his eyes returned to my face every few seconds, their expression speculative. It seemed to me that irritation was winning out over amusement as the dominant emotion on his face. Because, of course it was. Of course I was more adept as an irritant than I was amusing. I flicked at the zipper on my jacket nervously.

He stepped up to the counter and filled a tray with food.

"You’re eating?" I blurted. "For two?"

He shook his head in a long suffering manner, stepping forward to buy the food.

"Instead of merely sitting with me at lunch, I figured I’d make sure you actually ate it. And, of course, I’ll need to eat as well."

I raised one eyebrow.

He led the way to the same table as before. Our table. We had a table. From the other end of the table, the part that wasn’t ours, a group of seniors gazed at us in amazement as we sat across from each other. Edward seemed oblivious.

"Take whatever you want," he said, pushing the tray toward me.

"I'm curious," I said as I picked up an apple, turning it around in my hands, "what would you do if someone insisted you eat?"

"You're always curious." He grimaced, shaking his head. He glared at me, holding my eyes as he lifted the slice of pizza off the tray, and deliberately bit off a mouthful, chewed quickly, and then swallowed. I watched, eyes wide.

"If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could, couldn't you?" he asked condescendingly.

I wrinkled my nose. "I did once... on a dare," I admitted. "It wasn't so bad."

He laughed. "I suppose I'm not surprised." Something over my shoulder seemed to catch his attention.

"Jessica's analyzing everything I do—she'll break it down for you later." He pushed the rest of the pizza toward me. The mention of Jessica brought a hint of his former irritation back to his features.

I put down the apple and took a bite of the pizza—the slice he’d bit—looking away, knowing he was about to start his own analysis.

"So the waitress was pretty, was she?" he asked casually.

"For a girl."

"You know, I wasn’t trying to be impressive. I honestly wasn't paying attention. I had a lot on my mind."

"Poor waitress." I could care less about the waitress.

"Something you said to Jessica... well, it bothers me." He refused to be distracted. His voice was husky, and he glanced up from under his lashes with troubled eyes.

"Yeah, well, I’m sure that eavesdroppers hear a lot they wish afterwards they hadn’t," I prodded.

"I warned you I would be listening."

"And I warned you that you didn't want to know everything I was thinking."

"You did," he agreed, but his voice was still rough. "You aren't precisely right, though. I do want to know what you're thinking—everything. I just wish...that you wouldn't be thinking some things."

I scowled. "I see..."

"But that's not really the point at the moment."

"What is?" We were inclined inward toward each other across the table now. He had his large white hands folded under his chin; I leaned forward, my right hand cupped around my neck. I had to remind myself that we were in a crowded lunchroom, with probably many curious eyes on us. It was too easy to get wrapped up in our own private, tense little bubble.

"Do you truly believe that you care more for me than I do for you?" he murmured, leaning closer to me as he spoke, his dark golden eyes piercing.

I tried to remember how to exhale. I had to look away before it came back to me.

"Just a second. You're doing it again," I muttered.

His eyes opened wide with surprise. "What?"

"Dazzling me," I admitted, trying to concentrate as I looked back at him.

"Oh." He frowned.

"It's not your fault," I sighed. "You can't help it."

"Yes. I’m a—what was it? I’m a fancy sitting room. Terribly sorry. Are you going to answer the question?"

I looked down. "Yes."

"Yes, you are going to answer, or yes, you really think that?" He was irritated again.

"Yes, I feel that." I kept my eyes down on the table, where they traced the pattern of the faux wood grains printed on the laminate. The silence dragged on. I stubbornly refused to be the first to break it this time, fighting hard against the temptation to peek at his expression.

Finally he spoke, voice velvet soft. "You're wrong."

I glanced up to see that his eyes were gentle.

"It doesn’t feel like I’m wrong," I disagreed in a whisper. I shook my head in doubt, though my chest swelled at his words and I wanted too badly to believe them.

"What makes you feel that’s the case?" His liquid topaz eyes were penetrating—trying futilely, I assumed, to lift the truth straight from my mind.

I stared back, struggling to think clearly in spite of his face, to find some way to explain. As I searched for the words, I could see him getting impatient; frustrated by my silence, he started to scowl. I lifted my hand from my neck and held up one finger.

"Let me think," I insisted. His expression cleared, now that he was satisfied that I was planning to answer. I dropped my hand to the table, moving my left hand so that my palms were pressed together. I stared at my hands, twining and untwining my fingers, as I finally spoke.

"Well, aside from the obvious, sometimes..." I hesitated. "I can't be sure—I don't know how to read minds—but sometimes it feels like you're trying to say goodbye when you're saying something else." That was the best I could do in trying to sum up the sensation of anguish that his words triggered in me at times.

"Perceptive," he whispered. And there was the anguish again, surfacing as he confirmed my fear. "That's exactly why you're wrong, though," he began to explain, but then his eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'the obvious'?"

"Well, look at me," I said, unnecessarily as he was already staring. "No matter how many insane girls in this town try to tell me I’m hot, I can see that I'm absolutely ordinary—well, ordinary besides bad things like all the near-death experiences, and being so clumsy that I'm almost disabled. And, well, look at you." I gestured toward him and all his bewildering perfection. “You’re ridiculous. You’re so far out of my league it’s a new game.”

His brow creased angrily for a moment, then smoothed as his eyes took on a knowing look. "You don't see yourself very clearly, you know. I'll admit you're dead-on about the bad things," he chuckled blackly, "but you weren’t forced to hear what every human female in this school was thinking on your first day."

I blinked, astonished. "And we’ve already established the mental stability of the girls at this school, haven’t we?" I mumbled to myself.

"Trust me just this once,” he started, waiting till I caught his eye to finish, “you are the opposite of ordinary."

My throat felt thick at the look that came into his eyes when he said this. I looked down quickly, reminding him of my original argument.

"But I'm not the one saying goodbye," I pointed out.

"Don't you see? That's what proves me right. I care the most, because if I can find the strength—" he shook his head, seeming to struggle with the thought. "Leaving is the right thing to do, and even with the pain that separation would cause me at this point, even though I may not survive it, to keep from hurting you, to keep you safe, I know it’s what should happen. I’m willing to try, at least. But you keep running after me. You make it too hard."

I glared. "I make it too— You don’t think I’d be willing to sacrifice my own happiness for your safety?"

"You'd never have to make the choice."

Abruptly, his unpredictable mood shifted again; a mischievous, devastating smile rearranged his features. "Of course, keeping you safe is beginning to feel like a full-time occupation that requires my constant presence."

"It’s true, I was accosted by a string of assassins only this morning," I quipped, grateful for the lighter subject. I didn't want him to talk about goodbyes anymore. I mulled over the idea of purposefully putting myself in danger to keep him close, but banished the thought before his quick eyes read it on my face. That idea would definitely get me in trouble.

"And how did you survive this harrowing experience?" he wondered.

"You think you’re my only savior? You’ll have to get in line," I teased; I wasn’t even going to try to argue my relative safety without his protection. I wanted to keep him expecting disasters.

"I have another question for you." His face was still casual.

"Shoot."

"Do you really need to go to Seattle this Saturday, or was that just an excuse to get out of saying no to all your admirers?"

I made a face at the memory. "You know, I haven't forgiven you for the Tyler thing yet," I warned him. "It's your fault that she's deluded herself into thinking I'm going to prom with her. It’s cruel."

"Oh, she would have found a chance to ask you without me—I just really wanted to watch your face," he chuckled, I would have been angrier if even his laughter weren't so fascinating. "If I'd asked you, would you have turned me down?" he asked, still laughing to himself.

"Probably not," I admitted. "To your face. I would have just canceled later—casually broken a leg or something like that."

He was puzzled. "Why would you do that? Not the leg—very funny—but why would you cancel when you all too clearly want to spend time with me?"

I shook my head sadly. "I don’t know if I’m ready for...”

Understanding caught in his eyes.

Everyone staring. Us dancing. So obviously an us. Could I do that? Maybe. I shrugged.

“And you've never seen me in Gym, I guess, but I would have at least thought you’d understand my terror at the thought of dancing."

"Referring to the fact that you can't walk across a flat, stable surface without finding something to trip over?"

"Obviously."

"That wouldn't be a problem." He was very confident. "It's all in the leading." He could see that I was about to protest, and he cut me off. "And I obviously wouldn’t ask you to do anything that you weren’t comfortable with. But you never told me—are you resolved on going to Seattle, or do you mind if we do something different?"

All in the leading, indeed. But I had to admit that as long as the "we" part was in, I didn't care about anything else. Apparently I’d even consider slow dancing with him to one of the sappiest songs in the universe. I’d do it surrounded by all of my peers from this and every school if he’d asked it of me. I had to admit it. And I also had to admit I was really glad that he hadn’t. The thought was still horrifying.

"I'm open to alternatives," I allowed. "On one condition."

He looked wary, as he always did when I tackled his requests conditionally. "What?"

"I drive."

He frowned. "Why?"

"Time management. And the fact that I enjoy torturing you."

He rolled his eyes. "You’re exceptionally good at it." He shook his head in disgust, but then his eyes were serious again. "Have you told your father that you'll be spending the day with me?" There was an undercurrent to his question that only the lizard part, all the way at the back of my brain, seemed to understand. It warned me of danger, but it was easy to ignore when looking at Edward’s incredulity carefully hidden under a blandly curious expression. If he went out of his way to save me from complete strangers, keeping me safe from himself was at the top of his list. He wasn't going to scare me away.

"With Charlie, less is always more." I said it mostly out of spite, but it was true nonetheless. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"The weather will be nice, so I'll be staying out of the public eye...and you can stay with me, if you'd like to." Again, he was leaving the choice up to me.

"And you'll show me what you meant, about the sun?" I asked, excited by the idea of unraveling another of the unknowns.

"Yes." He smiled, and then paused. "But if you don't want to be...alone with me, I'd still rather you didn't go to Seattle by yourself. I shudder to think of the trouble you could find in a city that size."

I was miffed. "Phoenix is three times bigger than Seattle—just in population. In physical size—"

"But apparently," he interrupted me, "your number wasn't up in Phoenix. So I'd rather you stayed near me." His eyes did that unfair smoldering thing again.

I couldn't argue, with the eyes or the motivation, and it was a moot point anyway. "As it happens, I don't mind being alone with you."

"I know," he sighed, brooding. "You should tell Charlie, though."

"Either wandering Seattle on my own is more dangerous than you are for me, or I’d be safer there than near you, Edward. You can’t have both. In case you hadn’t noticed, you can’t stand to think of me in danger, so please stop pretending that you’ll suddenly decide to murder me."

His eyes were suddenly fierce. "I don’t want you hurt, you’re right. But I don’t always get— You need to give me some small incentive to bring you back, Beau. Tell Charlie."

I looked at him steadily, and there was no hesitation in my answer. "I think I'll take my chances."

He exhaled angrily and looked away.

"I’m sorry that my faith in your ability to refrain from murdering me is so upsetting. Let's talk about something else, okay?" I suggested.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asked. He was still annoyed.

I glanced around us, making sure we were well out of anyone's hearing. As I cast my eyes around the room, I caught the eyes of his sister, Alice, staring at me. The others were looking at Edward. I looked away swiftly, back to him, and I asked the first thing that came to mind.

"So, you hunt bears?"

He stared at me as if he were trying to decipher some particularly difficult form of code.

Then he smirked.

"You know, bears aren’t in season," I lectured, peeking at the vampire table again to find all eyes firmly elsewhere.

"If you read carefully, the laws only cover hunting with weapons," he informed me.

He watched my face with enjoyment as that slowly sank in.

"Bears? Bare handed?”

I raised my eyebrows twice, all  _ see what I did there, _ and he shook his head slowly.

“Seriously!?” I went on, awed at the thought. “That’s kind of awesome." I realized that I was kind of an idiot, thinking of guns, and was trying hard to picture something so un-picturable as Edward tackling a grizzly.

"Grizzly is Emmett's favorite." His voice was still offhand, but his eyes were scrutinizing my reaction. I tried to pull myself together.

"Still awesome," I said, taking another bite of pizza as an excuse to look down. I chewed slowly, and then took a long drink of Coke without looking up.

"So," I said after a moment, finally meeting his now-anxious gaze. "What's your favorite? Four legged, of course."

He raised an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth turned down in disapproval. "Mountain lion."

"Also cool," I said, more composed this time, and looking for my soda again.

"Of course," he said, and his tone mirrored mine, "we have to be careful not to impact the environment with injudicious hunting. We try to focus on areas with an overpopulation of predators—ranging as far away as we need. There's always plenty of deer and elk here, and they'll do, but where's the fun in that?" He smiled teasingly.

"Where indeed?" I murmured around another bite of pizza.

"Early spring is Emmett's favorite bear season—they're just coming out of hibernation, so they're more irritable." He smiled at some remembered joke.

"Nothing more fun than an irritated grizzly bear," I agreed, nodding.

He snickered, shaking his head. "Tell me what you're really thinking, please."

"I'm trying to picture it—and failing really spectacularly," I admitted. "How do you take down a bear? I mean, the size alone, even if you are super strong, you’d think that would be awkward, with physics and all that."

"Honestly, we’ve never had a problem with physics." He flashed his bright teeth in a brief, threatening smile. I fought a shiver at that look, doubting that Edward would find it the kind of shiver appropriate to the occasion. "And we definitely do use weapons. Just not the kind they consider when writing hunting laws. If you've ever seen a bear attack on television, you should be able to visualize Emmett hunting."

I could picture that. My jaw may have dropped a bit, though I was quick to snap it shut. I peeked across the cafeteria toward Emmett, grateful that he still wasn't looking my way. The thick bands of muscle that wrapped his arms and torso were somehow even more impressive now.

Edward followed my gaze and chuckled. I stared at him, more curious than ever.

"So when you hunt,” I said, as my imagination worked, “are you like a bear, then, too?" my voice was low. The question felt very intimate.

He shook his head. "More like the lion, or so they tell me," he said lightly. "Perhaps our preferences are indicative."

I sat and breathed and watched him move in a sleek sinewy slink through the forest of my imagination. That wasn’t hard to picture. "Perhaps," I repeated, my mind unable to let go of the pregnant moment before the kill. "Is that something I might get to see?"

"Never." His face turned even whiter than usual, and his eyes were suddenly furious. I leaned back slowly, analyzing his reaction. He leaned back as well, folding his arms across his chest.

"You’re afraid," I said, surprised by the statement as it came out of my mouth. But he was. It was so clear now.

"If I thought I wouldn’t...” He began, almost pained, “If I thought that the only thing to come of it would be that it would finally frighten you off...” He brought a hand up to cover his eyes and swept it through his hair, tousling it into new and interesting patterns. “I would take you out tonight," he said, his voice cutting. "You need a healthy dose of fear. Nothing could be more beneficial for you."

"If you thought you wouldn’t kill me?" I pressed, trying to ignore his angry expression.

He glared at me for a long minute.

"Later," he finally said. He was on his feet in one lithe movement. "We're going to be late."

I glanced around, startled to see that he was right and the cafeteria was nearly vacant. When I was with him, time and place were such a muddled blur that I completely lost track of both. I jumped up, grabbing my bag from the back of my chair.

"Later, then," I agreed. I wouldn't forget.


	12. Complications

Everyone watched us as we walked together to our lab table. I noticed that he no longer angled the chair to sit as far from me as the desk would allow. Instead, he sat close enough that our arms were almost touching.

Mr. Banner backed into the room then—what superb timing the man had—pulling a tall metal frame on wheels that held a heavy-looking, outdated TV and VCR. A movie day—the lift in the class atmosphere was almost tangible.

Mr. Banner shoved the tape into the reluctant VCR and walked to the wall to turn off the lights.

And then, as the room went black, the lack of sight made me even more hyperaware that Edward was sitting less than an inch from me. I was stunned by the force of the electricity that flowed through me, amazed that it was possible to be more aware of him than I already was. A crazy impulse to reach over and touch him, to stroke his perfect face just once in the darkness, nearly overwhelmed me. I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, my hands balling into fists. I was losing my mind.

The opening credits began, lighting the room by a token amount. My eyes, of their own accord, flickered to him. I smiled sheepishly as I realized his posture was identical to mine, fists clenched under his arms, right down to the eyes, peering sideways at me. He grinned back, his eyes somehow managing to smolder, even in the dark. I looked away before I could start hyperventilating. It was absolutely ridiculous that I should feel dizzy.

The hour seemed very long. I couldn't concentrate on the movie—I didn't even know what subject it was on. I tried unsuccessfully to relax, but the electric current that seemed to be originating from somewhere in his body, spilling over the short distance into mine, never slackened. Occasionally I would permit myself a quick glance in his direction, but he never seemed to relax, either. The overpowering craving to touch him also refused to fade, and I crushed my fists safely against my ribs until my fingers were aching with the effort.

I breathed a sigh of relief when Mr. Banner flicked the lights back on at the end of class, and stretched my arms out in front of me, flexing my stiff fingers. Edward chuckled beside me.

"Well, that was interesting," he murmured. His voice was dark and his eyes were cautious.

"Quite," was all I was able to respond.

"Shall we?" he asked, rising fluidly.

I almost groaned. Time for Gym. I stood with care, worried my balance might have been affected by the strange new intensity between us. I mean, it couldn’t have helped.

He walked me to my next class in silence and paused at the door; I turned to say goodbye. His face startled me—his expression was torn, pained again, and so fiercely beautiful that the ache to touch him flared as strong as before, making my breath catch ragged as I inhaled. My goodbye stuck in my throat.

He raised his hand, hesitant, conflict raging in his eyes, and then swiftly brushed the length of my cheekbone with his thumb, the rest of his palm ghosting just over the side of my face, not quite touching. His skin on the pad of his thumb was as icy as ever, but the trail his fingers left on my skin was alarmingly warm—like I'd been burned, but didn't feel the pain of it yet.

He turned without a word and strode quickly away from me.

I walked into the gym, lightheaded and focusing on breathing like a normal human being. I drifted to the locker room, changing in a trancelike state, only vaguely aware that there were other people surrounding me. Reality didn't fully set in until I was handed a racket. It wasn't heavy, yet it felt very unsafe in my hand. They were giving me weapons now? I could see a few of the other kids in class eyeing me furtively. I didn’t blame them in the least. Coach Clapp ordered us to pair up into teams.

Mercifully, somehow without my noticing, Mike had already moved to stand beside me.

She nodded to me in greeting. "Teammate."

"You don't have to do this, you know. You could still run. Save yourself. They armed me." I held up my racket like I was worried it would go off, grimacing apologetically.

"Don't worry, I'm talented enough for the both of us. And you don’t scare me with your little racket." She grinned, spinning her racket showily. It was so easy to like Mike.

But the game didn't go smoothly. In a misguided effort of participation I somehow managed to hit myself in the head with my racket and clip Mike's shoulder on the same swing. I spent the rest of the hour in the back corner of the court, the racket held safely behind my back. The coach didn’t even comment. Despite being handicapped by me, though, Mike was pretty good, as boasted; she won three games out of four singlehandedly. She gave me an unearned high five when the coach finally blew the whistle ending class.

"So," she said as we walked off the court.

"Yeah?"

"You and Cullen, huh?" she asked, her tone warmly teasing. “It’s official.” A brief but intense wave of anxiety left behind a cold ball just under my ribcage.

"Does everyone..." I swallowed, not wanting to finish and find that I’d have to curse Jessica straight to the fiery pits of Hades.

"No. No way. You know Jess wouldn’t do that. She talks constantly, but not about anything really important.” She assured me. “Just try to breathe."

"Yeah, people keep having to remind me,” I gasped, bent and bracing my hands on my trembling thighs. “Two seconds. Trying to find the directions.” 

Mike bit her lip, her brow creased in thought, but that thought must have led to a decision to go ahead and speak her mind. Whatever she said next would sound bad. But it’d probably be important too. "Sometimes though, the way he looks at you it’s like... like you're something to eat," she murmured. “You seem smart. So just be smart, okay?”

I choked back the hysterical laughter that threatened to explode on the heels of my panic attack, but a small giggle managed to get out despite my efforts. She gave me an appraising look and then a slow pat on the back. After a little while, her hand still resting where it had fallen, comfort radiating out from it, I was able to rise. With a quiet thanks to Mike, who merely tipped an invisible hat before ambling off, I made my own retreat, tail between my legs, to the locker room.

As I dressed quickly, something stronger than butterflies began battering recklessly against the walls of my stomach, causing my little panic attack to fade to a distant memory. I was wondering if Edward would be waiting, or if I should meet him at his car. What if his family was there? I felt a bit of the jittery panic returning, flaring to vibrant life again, not having been snuffed out completely, apparently. My shoulders were stiff and began to ache, my jaw clamped shut. Did they know that I knew? Was I supposed to know that they knew that I knew, or not?

By the time I walked out of the gym, I had just about decided to walk straight home without even looking toward the parking lot. But my worries were unnecessary. Edward was waiting, leaning casually against the side of the gym, his breathtaking face untroubled after the break from me and my persistently wrong reactions. As I walked to his side, I felt a peculiar sense of release. The tension drained and I remembered once again how to properly pull air into my lungs.

"Hi," I breathed, with a smile more grateful than I should have let on, surely.

"Hello." His answering smile was brilliant. "How was Gym?"

My face fell a tiny bit. "Very Gym-like," I obfuscated.

"Really?" He was unconvinced. His eyes shifted their focus slightly, looking over my shoulder thoughtfully. I glanced behind me to see Mike's back as she walked away.

"What?" I demanded.

His eyes slid back to mine, still tight. "Newton's too perceptive."

"Traitor!" I was horror-struck. All traces of my sudden good humor vanished.

"How's your head?" he asked innocently.

"Seriously? Seriously?!" I turned, stalking away in the general direction of the parking lot, though I hadn't ruled out walking at this point.

He kept up with me easily.

"You were the one who mentioned how I'd never seen you in Gym—it made me curious." He didn't sound repentant, so I ignored him.

We walked in silence—a furious, embarrassed silence on my part—to his car. But I had to stop a few steps away—a crowd of people, all boys, were surrounding it.

Then I realized they weren't surrounding the Volvo, they were actually circled around Rosalie's red convertible, unmistakable lust in their eyes. None of them even looked up as Edward slid between them to open his door. I plopped quickly into the passenger side, also unnoticed but probably more used to it.

"Ostentatious," he muttered.

"What kind of car is that?" I asked.

"An M3."

"Though I have a Y chromosome, I was not born speaking Car and Driver."

"It's a BMW." He rolled his eyes, not looking at me, trying to back out without running over the car enthusiasts.

I nodded—those letters I'd heard before.

"Are you still angry?" he asked as he carefully maneuvered his way out.

"Yup."

He sighed. "Will you forgive me if I apologize?"

"Maybe. If you mean it...and if you vow never to do it again," I bargained.

His eyes were suddenly shrewd. "How about if I mean it, and you’re the driver Saturday?" he countered my conditions.

I considered, and knowing him, realized that it was probably the best offer I would get. "Fine," I agreed.

"Then I'm very sorry I upset you." His eyes burned with sincerity for a protracted moment—playing havoc with my already on edge heart—and then turned playful. "And I'll be on your doorstep bright and early Saturday morning."

"And where will you be hiding your car before you set foot on my doorstep?"

His smile was condescending now. "I wasn't intending on bringing a car."

"You—"

He cut me off. "Don't worry about it. I'll be there, sans car."

I let it go. I had a more pressing question.

"Is it later yet?" I asked significantly.

He frowned. "I supposed it is later."

I kept my expression bland as I waited.

He stopped the car and I looked up—of course we were already at Charlie's house, parked neatly behind the truck. I was going to have to reevaluate the time it would take to get around if I kept riding with him. When I looked back at his face, he was staring at me, measuring with his eyes.

"And, being later, you still want to know why you can't see me hunt?" He seemed solemn, but I thought I saw a trace of humor deep in his eyes.

"Well," I clarified, "I was mostly curious about your reaction to the question."

"Did I frighten you?" Yes, there was definitely humor there.

"No," I replied evenly. “But I frightened you. I’m sorry for that.”

I watched him. An unreadable expression went blank before I could decipher it.

"You’re sorry.” He shook his head, a bemused expression flitting for a moment across his face before he schooled it. " _ I’m _ sorry. It was just that the very thought of you being there...while we hunted." His jaw tightened.

"Bad things?"

He spoke from between clenched teeth. "Extremely."

"That much I’d gathered. But why would it be so...?"

He took a deep breath and stared through the windshield at the thick, rolling clouds that seemed to press down, almost within reach.

"When we hunt," he spoke slowly, unwillingly, "we give ourselves over to our senses... govern less with our minds. We utilize our sense of smell, especially. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way..." He shook his head, still gazing morosely at the heavy clouds.

I studied his face, feeling the sadness, the shame in the swift flash of his eyes as they quickly judged my reaction. I wasn’t sure what secrets my face gave away in that moment.

But our eyes held and the silence deepened—changed. Flickers of the electricity I'd felt this afternoon began to charge the atmosphere as he gazed unrelentingly into my eyes. It wasn't until my head started to swim that I realized I wasn't breathing. When I drew in a jagged breath, breaking the stillness, he closed his eyes.

"Beau, I think you should go inside now." His low voice was rough, his eyes on the clouds again.

I opened the door, and the arctic draft that burst into the car helped clear my head. Afraid I might stumble in my woozy state, I stepped carefully out of the car and shut the door behind me without looking back. The whir of the automatic window unrolling made me turn.

"Beau?" he called after me, his voice more even. He leaned toward the open window with a faint smile on his lips.

"Yes?"

"Tomorrow, it's my turn."

"Awesome. Your turn to what?"

He smiled wider, flashing his gleaming teeth. "Ask the questions."

And then he was gone, the car speeding down the street and disappearing around the corner before I could even collect my thoughts. I smiled as I walked to the house. It was clear he was planning to see me tomorrow, if nothing else.

That night Edward starred in my dreams, as usual. It was the genre that had changed. It thrilled with the same electricity that had charged the afternoon, a hot and needy want underlaying every vivid instant, causing me to toss restlessly, waking often in a state that I then fell back to sleep too quickly to even address and get some relief. It was only in the early hours of the morning that exhaustion finally pushed me into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

When I woke I was still tired, but edgy too. I pulled on a vaguely brown sweater that fit well and the inescapable jeans, sighing as I daydreamed of t-shirts and shorts. Breakfast was the usual, quiet event that I had come to know and love. Charlie fried eggs for himself; I had my bowl of cereal. I wondered if he had forgotten about this Saturday. He answered my unspoken question, eerily, as he stood up to take his plate to the sink.

"About this Saturday..." he began, walking across the kitchen and turning on the faucet.

I cringed. "Yeah?"

"Are you still set on going to Seattle?" he asked.

"That was the plan." I grimaced, wishing he hadn't brought it up so I wouldn't have to compose careful half-truths.

He squeezed some dish soap onto his plate and swirled it around with the brush. "And you're sure you can't make it back in time for the dance?"

"Even if I could I wouldn’t actually go to the dance, Dad." I replied firmly.

"Didn't you want to ask anyone?" he asked, trying to hide his concern by focusing on rinsing the plate.

I sidestepped the many minefields that question contained. "It's girl's choice."

"Oh." He frowned as he dried his plate.

I sympathized with him. It must be a hard thing, to be a father; living in fear that your son would do something stupid, but also having to worry if he didn't try. How much harder for him, I thought, shuddering, if Charlie had even the slightest inkling of exactly what I did like. Or who.

Charlie left then, with a goodbye wave, and I went upstairs to brush my teeth and gather my books. When I heard the cruiser pull away, I could only wait a few seconds before I had to peek out of my window. The silver car was already there, of course, waiting in Charlie's spot on the driveway like it had been occupying the same spot all along. I raced down the stairs and out the front door, wondering how long this bizarre routine could continue, and never wanting it to end.

He waited in the car, not appearing to watch as I shut the door behind me without bothering to lock the dead-bolt. I walked to the car, pausing for a breath before opening the door and stepping in. He was smiling, relaxed—and, as usual, perfect and striking to an excruciating degree.

"Good morning." His voice was silky. "How are you today?" His eyes roamed over my face, as if his question was something more than simple courtesy.

"Pretty damn good." I was always much more than good when I was near him.

His gaze lingered on the circles under my eyes. "You look tired."

"I didn't sleep well," I confessed, the remembered snippets of dreams that had been the cause behind that causing the same embarrassing reaction now as they had last night. I shifted in my seat uncomfortably.

"Neither could I," he teased as he started the engine. I was becoming used to the quiet purr. I was sure the roar of my truck starting would deafen me, whenever I got to drive it again.

I laughed. "So, the usual then. And yet you look so fresh and rested."

"There are benefits to being me," he nodded, and I could see half of the grin he was wearing.

"So what did you do last night?" I asked.

He chuckled. "Not a chance. It's my day to ask questions."

"Oh, right. My bad. What do you want to know?" My forehead creased. This should be over quickly. I couldn't imagine anything about me holding his interest for long.

"What's your favorite color?" he asked, his face grave.

I rolled my eyes. "Weak.” He looked serious so I rolled my eyes again. “Whatever, it changes from day to day."

"What's your favorite color today?" He was still solemn.

"Probably brown." I tended to dress according to my mood.

He snorted, dropping his serious expression. "Brown?" he asked skeptically.

"Brown,” I nodded. “Brown is warm. I miss brown. Everything that's supposed to be brown—tree trunks, rocks, dirt—it’s all covered up with squashy green here," I complained.

He seemed fascinated by my little rant, and seemed to consider for a moment, his eyes far away.

"You're right," he decided, serious again. "Brown is warm." He reached over, swiftly, but somehow still hesitantly, to sweep a stray lock of my hair back behind my ear.

We were at the school by now. He turned back to me as he pulled into a parking space.

"What music is in your CD player right now?" he asked, his face as somber as if he'd asked for a murder confession.

I realized I'd never removed the CD that Phil had given me. When I said the name of the band, he barked out a laugh, smiling crookedly, a peculiar expression in his eyes. He flipped open a compartment under his car's CD player, pulled out one of thirty or so CDs that were jammed into the small space, and handed it to me,

"Debussy to this?" He raised an eyebrow.

It was the same CD. I examined the familiar cover art, thoughtful.

It continued like that for the rest of the day. While he walked me to English, when he met me after Spanish, all through the lunch hour, he questioned me relentlessly about every insignificant detail of my existence. Movies I'd liked and hated, the few places I'd been and the many places I wanted to go, and books—endlessly of books.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd talked so much. More often than not, I felt self-conscious, certain I must be boring him. But the absolute absorption of his face, and his never-ending stream of questions, compelled me onward. Mostly his questions were easy, only a very few were truly embarrassing, causing a flushing reaction that I was becoming all too well acquainted with. Then, when I did flush, it brought on a whole new round of questions.

Such as the time he asked my favorite gemstone, and I blurted out topaz before thinking. He'd been flinging questions at me with such speed that I felt like I was taking one of those psychiatric tests where you answer with the first word that comes to mind. I was sure he would have continued down whatever mental list he was following, except for the color in my cheeks. My face had reddened at this particular question because, until very recently, my favorite gemstone was garnet. It was impossible, while staring back into his topaz eyes, not to remember the reason for the switch. And, naturally, he wouldn't let it go until I admitted why I was embarrassed.

"Tell me," he finally commanded after persuasion failed. It was almost enough to teach him a lesson in the word no. Almost.

"It's the color of your eyes today," I sighed, surrendering, staring down at my hands as I made another valiant effort to twiddle my thumbs. "And, though it pains me to admit it, if you asked me in two weeks I'd say onyx." I'd given more information than necessary in my unwilling honesty, and I worried it would provoke the strange anger that flared whenever I slipped and revealed too clearly how obsessed I was.

But his pause was very short.

"What is your favorite scent?" he fired off.

I sighed in relief and continued with the psychoanalysis.

Biology was a complication again. Edward had continued with his quizzing up until Mr. Banner entered the room, dragging the audiovisual frame again. As the teacher approached the light switch, I noticed Edward slide his chair slightly farther away from mine. It didn't help. As soon as the room was dark, there was the same electric spark, the same restless craving to stretch my hand across the short space and touch his cold skin, as yesterday.

I leaned forward on the table, resting my chin on my folded arms, my hidden fingers gripping the table's edge, knuckles surely white, as I fought to ignore the irrational longing that needled me. I didn't look at him, afraid that if he was looking at me, it would only make self-control that much harder. I really did try to watch the movie, but at the end of the hour I had no idea what I'd just seen. I sighed in relief again when Mr. Banner turned the lights on, finally glancing at Edward; he was looking at me, his eyes ambivalent.

He rose in silence and then stood still, waiting for me. We walked toward the gym in silence, like yesterday. And, also like yesterday, he touched my face wordlessly—stroking the knuckles of his cool fingers under my jaw, tilting my eyes to meet his—before he turned and walked away.

Gym passed quickly as I watched Mike's one-woman badminton show. She didn't speak to me today, either in response to my vacant expression or worried that she might provoke another panic attack. Somewhere, in a far-flung corner of my mind, I felt embarrassed over that. But I couldn't concentrate on it.

I hurried to change afterward, shaking like a withdrawing junkie, knowing the faster I moved, the sooner I would be with Edward. The pressure made me more clumsy than usual, but eventually I made it out the door, feeling the same release when I saw him standing there, a wide smile automatically spreading across my face. It was dangerous how immediate and how affecting it was. He smiled in reaction, oblivious to my addiction, before launching into a deeper examination.

His questions were different now, and not as easily answered. He wanted to know what I missed about home, insisting on descriptions of anything he wasn't familiar with. We sat in front of Charlie's house for hours, as the sky darkened and rain plummeted around us in a sudden deluge.

I tried to describe impossible things like the scent of creosote—bitter, slightly resinous, but still pleasant—the high, keening sound of the cicadas in July, the feathery barrenness of the trees, the very size of the sky, extending white-blue from horizon to horizon, barely interrupted by the low mountains covered with purple volcanic rock. The hardest thing to explain was why it was so beautiful to me—to justify a beauty that didn't depend on the sparse, spiny vegetation that often looked half dead, a beauty that had more to do with the exposed shape of the land, with the shallow bowls of valleys between the craggy hills, and the way they held on to the sun. I found myself using my hands a lot as I tried to describe it to him.

His quiet, probing questions kept me talking freely, time and space vague and unimportant concepts as I tried to frame my answers in ways that conveyed what was in my mind. Finally, when I had finished detailing my cluttered and comfortable room at home, he paused instead of responding with another question.

"My god, you’re finally finished?" I asked in tentative relief.

"Not even close—but your father will be home soon."

"Charlie!" I blurted, suddenly recalling his existence. I looked out at the rain-darkened sky, but it gave no hint of the time away. "How late is it?" I wondered out loud as I glanced at the clock. I was surprised, again, by the time—Charlie would be driving home now.

"It's twilight," Edward murmured, looking at the western horizon, obscured as it was with clouds. His voice was thoughtful, as if his mind were somewhere far away. I stared at him as he gazed unseeingly out the windshield.

I was still staring when his eyes suddenly shifted back to mine.

"It's the safest time of day for us," he said, answering the unspoken question in my eyes. "The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way... the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?" He smiled wistfully.

"No less than day. I like the night. The sky opens up—there’s so much more sky at night. And every star we look at, we’re looking at light from the past, sometimes a thousand years, sometimes more. Way more." I frowned. "Not that you see them here much."

He laughed, and the mood abruptly lightened.

"Charlie will be here in a few minutes. So, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me Saturday..." He raised one eyebrow.

"Nope. Beat it, kid." I gathered my books, realizing I was stiff from sitting still so long.

He wore an odd expression. “There’s an endearing preposterousness to you calling me kid.”

"I’ll be sure to do it more often then, if you find it so endearing,” I teased, stretching gingerly as best as I could in the space I had to work with. “So my turn tomorrow?"

"Definitely not!" His face was teasingly outraged. "I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?"

"You know, you find me entirely too interesting,” I related mock-solemnly. “What could you have left to ask?"

"You'll find out tomorrow." And then he leaned in, reaching across me, his sudden proximity sending my heart into frenzied palpitations.

I had scraped together just enough presence of mind to figure out that he was opening my door, when suddenly he wasn’t, suddenly he had frozen in place, inches from me. It was less sexy than you would think.

"Not good," he muttered.

"No?" I managed, scrambling to understand. “What?” I was surprised to see that his jaw was clenched, his eyes disturbed.

He glanced at me for a brief second. "Another complication," he said glumly.

He flung the door open in one swift movement, and then moved, almost cringed, swiftly away from me.

The flash of headlights through the rain caught my attention as a dark car pulled up to the curb just a few feet away, facing us.

"Charlie's around the corner," he warned, staring through the downpour at the other vehicle.

I hopped out at once, despite my confusion and curiosity. The rain was louder as it pattered off my jacket.

I tried to make out the shapes in the front seat of the other car, but it was too dark. I could see Edward illuminated in the glare of the new car's headlights; he was still staring ahead, his gaze locked on something or someone I couldn't see. His expression was a strange mix of frustration and defiance.

Then he revved the engine, and the tires squealed against the wet pavement. The Volvo was out of sight in seconds.

"Hey, Beau," called a warm, scratchy voice from the driver's side of the little black car.

"Julz?" I asked, squinting through the rain. Just then, Charlie's cruiser swung around the corner, his lights shining on the occupants of the car in front of me.

Julz was already climbing out, her wide grin visible even through the darkness. In the passenger seat was a middle-aged man, a heavyset man with a memorable face—a face that overflowed, the cheeks resting against his shoulders, with creases running through the russet skin like an old leather jacket. And the surprisingly familiar eyes, black eyes that seemed at the same time both too young and too ancient for the broad face they were set in. Julz's father, Billy Black. I knew him immediately, though in the more than five years since I'd seen him last I'd managed to forget his name when Charlie had spoken of him my first day here. He was staring at me, scrutinizing my face, so I smiled tentatively at him. His eyes were wide, as if in shock or fear, his nostrils flared. My smile faded.

Another complication, Edward had said.

Billy still stared at me with intense, anxious eyes and I groaned internally. Had Billy recognized Edward so easily? Did he believe the impossible legends his daughter had scoffed at?

The answer was clear in Billy's eyes. Yes. Yes, he did.


	13. Balancing

"Billy!" Charlie called as soon as he got out of the car.

I turned toward the house, beckoning to Julz as I ducked under the porch. I heard Charlie greeting them loudly behind me.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't see you behind the wheel, Julz," he said disapprovingly.

"We get permits early on the rez," Julz defended while I unlocked the door and flicked on the porch light.

"Sure you do," Charlie laughed.

"I have to get around somehow." I recognized Billy's resonant voice easily, despite the years. The sound of it made me feel suddenly younger, sent me directly back to childhood, do not pass go, do not collect two-hundred dollars.

I went inside, leaving the door open behind me and turning on lights before I hung up my jacket. Then I stood in the door, watching anxiously as Charlie and Julz helped Billy out of the car and into his wheelchair.

I backed out of the way as the three of them hurried in, shaking off the rain.

"This is a surprise," Charlie was saying.

"It's been too long," Billy answered. "I hope it's not a bad time." His dark eyes flashed up to me again, their expression unreadable.

"No, it's great. I hope you can stay for the game."

Julz grinned. "I think that's the plan—our TV broke last week."

Billy made a face at his daughter. "And, of course, Julz was anxious to see Beau again," he added. The aforementioned Julz scowled and hid her face in her palm while I fought back a surge of remorse. Maybe I'd been too convincing on the beach. I was such an asshole.

"You hungry?" I asked, turning toward the kitchen. I was eager to escape Billy's searching gaze.

"Naw, we ate just before we came," Julz answered.

"How about you, Ch- Dad?" I called over my shoulder almost reverting back to Charlie in my haste to flee around the corner.

"Sure," he replied, thankfully distracted, his voice moving in the direction of the front room and the TV. I could hear Billy's chair follow.

The grilled cheese sandwiches were in the frying pan and I was slicing up a tomato when I sensed someone behind me.

"So, how’s tricks?" Julz asked.

"Can’t complain." I smiled. Her enthusiasm was hard to resist. "How about you? How’s the car coming along?"

"Slow." She frowned, crossing her arms as she settled her diminutive frame in against the counter. "Still needs parts. We borrowed that one." She thumbed in the direction of the front yard.

"That sucks. Still haven't seen any... whatever it was you were looking fors around."

"Master cylinder." She grinned. "Something wrong with the truck?" she added suddenly.

"Still awesome as ever."

"Cool. Just wondered if it’d crapped out on you, since you got dropped off."

I stared down at the pan, pulling up the edge of a sandwich to check the bottom side. "Naw. Just hanging with a friend."

"Nice ride." Julz's voice was admiring. "Didn't recognize the driver, though. I thought I knew most of the kids around here, small town and all that."

I nodded noncommittally, keeping my eyes down as I flipped sandwiches.

"My dad seemed to know him from somewhere, weirdly enough."

"Hey Julz, could you hand me some plates? They're in the cupboard over the sink."

"Uhhh... Sure."

I glanced over at her tone, then couldn’t help the laugh that escaped and which I immediately apologized for. I’d forgotten how tiny she was. I got the plates in embarrassed silence, hoping that she’d been distracted and would let Edward drop now.

"So who was it?" she asked, lifting herself up to sit on the empty counter next to me, spinning a can of tomato soup in her hands.

I sighed in defeat. "Edward Cullen."

To my surprise, she laughed. I glanced up at her, to see her looking a little embarrassed herself and picking at the label on the can.

"Guess that explains it, then," she said, shaking her head. "Wondered why dad was acting so strange."

"Oh right." I faked an innocent expression. "He wouldn't like the Cullens."

"Superstitious old man," Julz muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes.

"You don't think he'd say anything to Charlie?" I couldn't help asking, the words coming out in a low rush.

Julz stared at me for a moment, and I couldn't read the expression in her dark eyes. "I doubt it," she finally answered. "Charlie chewed him out pretty good last time he tried. They haven't spoken much since—tonight is sort of a reunion, I think. Even with all that,” and she motioned again to the front yard, “I don't think he'd bring it up again."

"Cool," I said, trying to sound indifferent.

I stayed in the front room after I carried the food out to Charlie, pretending to watch the game while Julz watched better than I did, chatting with me all the while, sometimes interrupting herself to lob incredulous bursts of anger at the television. Even though Julz had been sure of her father, one of my ears remained attuned to our parent's conversation, watching for any sign that Billy was about to rat me out, trying to think of ways to stop him if he began.

It was a long night. I had a lot of homework that was going undone, but I was afraid to leave Billy alone with Charlie. Finally, the game ended.

"So, you and your friends coming back to the beach soon?" Julz asked as she pushed her father over the lip of the threshold.

"I dunno," I hedged.

"That was fun, Charlie," Billy said.

"Come up for the next game," Charlie encouraged.

"Sure, sure," Billy said. "We'll be here. Have a good night." His eyes shifted to mine, and his smile disappeared, a stern worry taking its place. "You take care, Beau."

"No worries," I breezed, waving as I turned away.

I headed for the stairs while Charlie waved from the doorway.

"Wait, Beau," he said.

I cringed. Had Billy gotten in a quick warning before I'd joined them in the living room?

But Charlie was relaxed, still grinning from the unexpected visit.

"I didn't get a chance to talk to you much tonight. How was your day?"

"Good." I hesitated with one foot on the first stair, searching for details I could safely share. "My badminton team won all four games."

"Wow, I didn't know you could play badminton."

"Oh, I can’t," I admitted. “My team won in spite of me. My partner is a beast.”

"Who is it?" he asked with token interest.

"Um... MaKayla Newton," I told him reluctantly, the name feeling weird in my mouth when I was so use to her as Mike.

"Oh yeah—you said you were friends with the Newton girl." He perked up. "Nice family." He mused for a minute. "She didn’t ask you to the dance this weekend?"

"Dad!" I groaned. "She’s going with one of my friends. But more importantly, have you forgotten the dance part of school dances? It’s kind of right in the name."

"Oh yeah," he muttered. Then he smiled at me apologetically. "So I guess it's good you'll be gone Saturday... I've made plans to go fishing with the guys from the station. The weather's supposed to be real warm. But if you wanted to put your trip off till someone could go with you, I'd stay home. I know I leave you here alone too much."

"Dad, seriously, you're awesome." I smiled, hoping my relief didn't show. "I've never minded being alone—I'm too much like you." I winked at him, grinning impishly, and he smiled his crinkly-eyed smile.

I slept better that night, too tired to dream again. When I woke to the pearl-gray morning, my mood was blissful. The tense evening with Billy and Julz seemed harmless enough now; I decided to forget it completely. I caught myself whistling while running my hands through my wet hair, after my shower, and later again as I clomped down the stairs. Charlie noticed.

"You're cheerful this morning," he commented over breakfast.

I shrugged. "TGIF?"

I hurried so I would be ready to go the second Charlie left. I had my bag ready, shoes on, teeth brushed, but even though I rushed to the door as soon as I was sure Charlie would be out of sight, Edward was faster. He was waiting in his shiny car, windows down, engine off.

I didn't hesitate this time, climbing in the passenger side quickly, the sooner to see his face. He grinned his crooked smile at me, stopping my breath and my heart. He’d killed me already. I wondered on heaven, and then on angels, and at that moment I couldn't imagine how an angel could be any more glorious than him. There was nothing about him that could be improved upon.

"How did you sleep?" he asked. I wondered if he had any idea how appealing his voice was.

"Better than you, I’d wager,” I smiled. “How was your night?"

"Pleasant." His smile was amused; I felt like I was missing an inside joke.

"Pleasant why?" I wondered, not even annoyed that he had an inside joke with himself, apparently, and was taunting me with it.

"Oh, no." He grinned. "Today is still mine."

He wanted to know about people today: more about Renée, her hobbies, what we'd done in our free time together. And then the one grandmother I'd known, the almost non-existent amount of school friends I’d had before Forks. He exceeded my awkwardometer’s ability to read when he asked casually about past girlfriends, then boyfriends, then, when the answer was a whopping none, girls or boys, he moved on to people I’d been attracted to and why. I'd never dated anyone, never even been particularly attracted to anyone, which was worrying now that I looked back on it, but also relieving, because it meant that the topic died quickly. He seemed as surprised as Jessica and Angela by my lack of romantic history. And then almost smug.

"So you never met anyone you wanted?" he asked in a serious tone that made me wonder what he was thinking about.

I was grudgingly honest, my face deadpan and my eyes on him, eyebrow firmly raised. "Not in Phoenix."

And his mercurial mood shifted once more, his lips pressing together into a hard line.

We were in the cafeteria at this point. The day had sped by in the blur that was rapidly becoming routine. I took advantage of his brief pause to take a bite of my bagel.

"I should have let you drive yourself today," he announced, apropos of nothing, while I chewed.

"Okay? Because?" I asked leadingly.

"I'm leaving with Jasper after lunch."

"Oh." I blinked, still bewildered and now a bit disappointed too. "That's cool, I guess, it's not that far to walk." In the soggy soggy rain. I almost pouted, my manly pride shutting it down at the last moment.

He frowned at me impatiently. "I'm not going to make you walk home. We'll go get your truck and leave it here for you."

"I didn’t bring my key," I sighed. "I really don't mind walking." And I found that I didn’t, not really. What I did mind was losing my time with him.

He shook his head. "Your truck will be here, and the key will be in the ignition—unless you're afraid someone might steal it." He laughed at the thought.

"That’ll work," I agreed, pursing my lips. I was pretty sure my key was in the pocket of a pair of jeans I wore Wednesday, under a pile of clothes in the laundry room. Even if he broke into my house, or whatever he was planning, he'd never find it. He seemed to feel the challenge in my consent. He smirked, overconfident.

"So why the leaving?" I asked, as casually as I could manage.

"Hunting," he answered grimly. "If I'm going to be alone with you tomorrow, I'm going to take whatever precautions I can." His face grew morose... and pleading. "You can always cancel, you know."

I looked down, knowing the persuasive power of his eyes. And also knowing that I couldn’t be convinced to fear him, no matter how real the danger might be. In the end, even that didn't matter.

"No," I whispered, glancing back at his face. "I don’t think I can."

His eyes locked to mine, searching.

"Perhaps you're right," he murmured bleakly. His eyes seemed to darken in color as I watched.

I changed the subject. "What time tomorrow?" I asked, already depressed by the thought of him leaving now.

"That depends on you, of course. It's a Saturday, do you want to sleep in?" he offered.

"Not even a little," I answered too fast. He restrained a smile.

"The same time as usual, then," he decided. "Will Charlie be there?"

"No, he's fishing." I beamed at the memory of how conveniently things had worked out.

His voice turned sharp. "And if you don't come home, what will he think?"

"I have no idea," I answered coolly. "He knows I've been meaning to get around to the laundry. Maybe he'll think I fell in the washer."

He scowled at me and I scowled back. His anger seemed much more impressive than mine, which I thought was decidedly unfair. Then my curiosity got the better of me.

"What are you hunting tonight?" I asked when I was sure I had lost the glowering contest.

"Whatever we find in the park. We aren't going far." He seemed bemused by my casual reference to his secret realities.

"Why Jasper?" I wondered.

"Jasper is the most... understanding." He frowned as he spoke.

"And the others?" I asked worriedly. "What are they?"

His brow puckered for a brief moment. "Incredulous, for the most part. Besides Alice."

I peeked quickly behind me at his family. They sat staring off in different directions, exactly the same as the first time I'd seen them. Only now they were four; their beautiful, bronze-haired brother sat across from me, his golden eyes troubled.

"They don't like me," I guessed. “Except Alice?”

"That's not it," he disagreed, but his eyes were too innocent. "They don't understand why I can't leave you alone. And Alice doesn’t do incredulity."

I grimaced. "I understand a little... why you can’t. I can’t. Even though I see how much pain you’re in because I can’t. Though why you would feel even close to the same about me..."

Edward shook his head slowly, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling before he met my gaze again. "I told you—you don't see yourself clearly at all. You're not like anyone I've ever known. And that’s saying something. You fascinate me."

I watched him guardedly for signs that he was messing with me. Though why would he mess with me?

He smiled as he deciphered my expression. "Having the advantages I do," he murmured, touching his forehead discreetly, "I have a better than average grasp of human nature. People are predictable. But you... you never do what I expect. You always take me by surprise."

I had to look away, my eyes wandering back to his family, feeling embarrassed and dissatisfied. His words made me feel like a science experiment. I wanted to laugh at myself for expecting anything else.

"That part is easy enough to explain," he continued. I felt his eyes on my face but I couldn't look at him yet, afraid he might read the chagrin in my eyes. "But there's more... and it's not so easy to put into words—"

I was still staring at the Cullens while he spoke. Suddenly Jasper, his blond, breathtaking brother, turned to look at me. No, not to look—to study, with dark, curious eyes, as if he’d just detected something particularly—troubling, going by the expression on his face. His eyes shot to Edward questioningly, before they bore into mine again, more interested than anything else. I wanted to look away, but his gaze held me until Edward broke off mid-sentence and made an angry noise under his breath.

Jasper pulled his gaze away quickly, and with not a little effort, before his face fell, his eyes now on the table, looking troubled once more. I was relieved to be free. His gaze was, though I hadn’t thought it possible, more intense than Edwards, whose eyes I was now more than happy to retreat back to—and who I knew could see the confusion and fear that widened my eyes. That was the difference. With Jasper there was fear. Because there was an obvious and palpable danger there.

Edward’s face was tight as he explained. "I'm sorry about that. He's just... well, Jasper’s complicated. And the rest of them... you see... it's dangerous for more than just me if, after spending so much time with you so publicly..." He looked down.

"Tell me?” I asked, denying the urge to comfort that his face was inadvertently pulling from me. “If?"

"If this ends... badly." He dropped his head into his hands, as he had that night in Port Angeles. His anguish was plain; the urge to comfort him was a physical pain, but I was at a loss to know how. Touch hadn’t worked in the past, but... my hand reached toward him involuntarily; quickly, though, I caught myself, dropped it to the table, fearing that my touch would only make things worse. I realized slowly that his words should have probably frightened me. I wasn’t at all surprised when fear didn’t suddenly decide to show up after all. The only thing I could seem to do was ache for his pain and my inability to end it.

It hit me with force out of nowhere that he’d never got to finish whatever he was about to say, to explain to me why he couldn’t let me go. Even though it caused him the anguish I saw before me, he couldn’t let me go. I felt a bolt of frustration that only bolstered the frustration I was feeling towards myself for being unable to help Edward. I glared at Jasper, who was looking at Edward, an echo of his pain and my ache to end it on his flawless face, and I felt my frustration sputter a bit, knowing that it was shared. The problem now was that I didn't know how to bring his reasons up again. And I wanted to understand them more than ever. Edward still had his head in his hands.

I took in a shaky breath and tried to speak in a normal voice. "And you have to leave now?"

"Yes." He raised his face; it was serious for a moment, and then he smiled, though it was a rather dim imitation of the real thing. "It's probably for the best. We still have fifteen minutes of that wretched movie left to endure in Biology—I don't think I could take any more."

I was going to say something in reply, but my mind was a sudden blank, because Alice—her short, inky hair in a halo of spiky disarray around her exquisite, elfin face—was suddenly standing behind his shoulder. Her slight frame was willowy, graceful even in absolute stillness.

He greeted her without looking away from me. "Alice."

"Edward," she answered, her high soprano voice almost as attractive as his.

"Alice, Beau—Beau, Alice," he introduced us, gesturing casually with his hand, a wry smile on his face.

"Hello, Beau." Her brilliant obsidian eyes crinkled, and her smile made up for all of the wattage Edward’s pathetic attempt had lacked and then some. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Edward flashed a dark look at her.

"Pleasure’s all mine, Alice," I murmured shyly at her bright welcome of me.

"Are you ready?" she asked Edward. “Jasper said it would be better if I were the one to fetch you.”

His voice was aloof. "Nearly. I'll meet him at the car."

She left without another word; her walk was so fluid, so sinuous, that I couldn’t help but watch her every move, entranced. When she finally disappeared from the lunchroom the spell was broken.

"So, should I say 'have fun,' or is that the wrong sentiment?" I asked, turning back to him.

"No, 'have fun' works as well as anything." He smiled, a bit brighter and more natural.

"Do that, then." I worked to sound in a lifted mood, as he seemed to be. Of course I didn't fool him.

"I'll try." He said, reaching across the table and tapping my chin up lightly with the knuckle of his forefinger. "And you try to be safe, please."

I was just able to stop myself from rolling my eyes.

"What a challenge you present me with."

"For you it is a challenge." And his jaw hardened. "Promise."

"I promise to try to be safe," I recited. "I'll do the laundry tonight—that ought to be fraught with peril."

"Mmm. Don’t fall in," he mocked, using my earlier sarcasm against me. Ouch.

"I shall try my very hardest not to."

He stood then, and I mirrored him, unsure what else I could do.

"See you tomorrow," I sighed.

"It seems like a long time to you, doesn't it?" he mused.

I nodded curtly, trying to imagine the breath it must feel to him, and then trying not to be jealous.

"I'll be there in the morning," he promised, smiling his crooked smile. He reached across the table again to touch my face, unable to stop himself it seemed, and lightly traced my jawline with the pad of his thumb. Then he turned and walked away. I stared after him until he was gone, more mesmerized by his exit than Alice’s, by such a large margin that it was immeasurable.

I was sorely tempted to ditch the rest of the day, at the very least Gym, but a warning instinct stopped me. I knew that if I disappeared now, Mike and others would assume I was with Edward. And I knew now that Edward and his family were worried about the time we'd spent together publicly... if things went wrong. The last thought didn’t cause me to dwell unduly, so I concentrated on making things easier on his undue dwellings. Through attending Gym. Yay.

I knew—and sensed somehow that he did, too—that tomorrow would be pivotal. Our relationship couldn't continue to balance, as it did, on the point of a knife. We would fall off one edge or the other, depending entirely upon his decision, or his instincts. My decision was made, made before I'd ever consciously chosen, and I was committed to seeing it through. Because there was nothing more terrifying to me, more excruciating, than the thought of turning away from him now. And the impossibility that letting go had become, frightened me much more than Edward ever had. Because the decisions, the choices, weren’t all up to me. I was awaiting his sentence.

I went to class, feeling dutiful more than enthusiastic. Not that Bio or Gym ever made me feel particularly enthusiastic in and of themselves. I couldn't honestly say what happened in the Biology film, anymore than I would have been able to say after the last two days; my mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of tomorrow. In Gym, Mike was thoughtful and understanding as usual, possibly having spied on my and Edward’s lunchtime drama; she wished me a good time with Edward in Seattle. I realized that I’d never told her about my changed plans, but felt at this point that I couldn’t put Edward in danger, even from Mike. I let her know the trip had been cancelled, hoping she’d leave it at that.

"But you’re definitely not going to the dance? Possibly with a certain Cullen?" she asked, fishing.

"No, Emmett doesn’t feel that way about me, Mike."

I’d said it with such a straight face that it took a bit for it to sink in, a smile finally spreading as awareness dawned. She elbowed me.

"What are you doing, then?" she continued, conversationally.

And I lied, smoothly and brightly. For him.

"Laundry. It’ll be super fun. And I also have to study for the Trig test or I'm going to fail."

"Is Edward helping you study?" She nudged me again, this time suggestively, her eyebrows doing a little dance number above her twinkling blue irises.

"Nope," I sighed, "Any studying I may or may not do will have to be strictly solo.” I waggled right back at her, then waved her off. “He's gone away somewhere for the weekend. It’s the reason we had to cancel. Some family thing." The lies came more naturally than usual, because they would protect him, I noted with surprise.

"Oh." She perked up. "You know, after the dance there’s a party, dance optional. Maybe you could come to that—that would be cool. I could text you?" she offered.

The mental image of Jessica's eager face when Mike invariably told her I might go to the party, her disappointment and then her worry if I never answered Mike’s text, made my carefree facade threaten to crumble. I answered quickly, looking away.

"I'm not much for parties, Mike. I’m pretty sure I’m allergic, actually. I’ll probably be sleeping by the time the dance is over, anyways, like the tired old man I am. Don’t bother texting, it’s cool."

"Yeah, cool." She shrugged, messing my hair as she scooted on past towards her locker room. "I just want you to know that we would want you there, you know?"

“Consider it known,” I bowed, and she threw me a quick smile as she disappeared through the door.

When the school day had finally ended, I walked to the parking lot with what felt like negative enthusiasm. I was exthused. I did not especially want to walk home, but I couldn't see how Edward would have possibly retrieved my truck. Then again, I was starting to believe that nothing was impossible for him. The latter instinct proved correct—my truck sat in the same space that he'd parked his Volvo in this morning. I shook my head, incredulous, as I opened the unlocked door and saw the key in the ignition.

There was a piece of white paper folded on my seat. I got in and closed the door before I unfolded it. Four words were written in his elegant script.

Be safe. Or else.

And I had to smile, despite myself. The now foreign sound of the truck roaring to life made me jump. I laughed at myself. Hadn’t I known it would?

When I got home, the handle of the door was locked, the dead bolt unlocked, just as I'd left it this morning. Inside, I went straight to the laundry room. It looked just the same as I'd left it, too. I dug for my jeans and, after finding them, checked the pockets. Empty. Maybe I'd hung my key up after all? I left the laundry room shaking my head.

Following the same instinct that had prompted me to lie to Mike, I called Jessica on the pretense of wishing her luck at the dance. When she offered the same wish for my day with Edward, I told her about his changed plans. She was more disappointed than I would have thought it possible for a third-party observer to be, and I remembered why we were such good friends. She almost had me feeling sorry for my lie-self. We talked for a bit, but I was halfhearted and distracted and said goodbye quickly after the cover had been planted.

Charlie was as absentminded as I was at dinner, worried over something at work, I guessed, or maybe a basketball game, or maybe he was just really enjoying the lasagna—it was hard to tell with Charlie.

"You know, Dad..." I began, breaking into his reverie.

"What's that, Kid?"

"I think you're right about Seattle. I think I'll wait till Jessica or someone can go with me."

"Oh," he said, surprised. "Oh, okay. So, do you want me to stay home?"

"Naw, don't change your plans. I've got a million things to get done. Chores and errands—I'll be running all day. Go. Have fun."

"You sure?"

"Absotively. Besides, the freezer is getting dangerously low on fish—we're down to a two, maybe three years' supply."

"You're sure easy to live with, Beau." He smiled.

"Same to you," I said, laughing. The sound of my laughter was probably off, but he didn't seem to notice. I felt so guilty for deceiving him in that moment that I almost took Edward's advice and told him where I would be. Almost.

After dinner, I folded clothes and moved another load through the dryer. But it was the kind of job that only keeps your hands busy. My mind definitely had too much free time, and it was getting out of control. I fluctuated between anticipation so intense that it was very nearly pain, and an insidious fear that picked at my resolve. Not fear of death. Fear of rejection. Fear of Edward’s choice. I had to keep reminding myself that I'd made my choice, and I wasn't going back on it. I had to let him make his too. I pulled his note out of my pocket much more often than necessary to absorb the four small words he'd written. He wants me to be safe, I told myself again and again. I would just hold on to the faith that, in the end, that desire would let him see how abandonment would leave me anything but safe. And what was my other choice? I didn’t have another choice. Any other choice I found intolerable. As terrifying as it was at the moment, I knew that my life had been all about him since I’d met him, and that, like I’d told him, it was already too late for me.

A tiny voice in the back of my mind wondered if it wouldn’t hurt less... if it ended badly in Edwards estimation, as opposed to mine.

I was relieved when it was late enough to be acceptable for bedtime. I knew I was far too stressed to sleep, so I did something desperate. I deliberately took unnecessary cold medicine—the kind that knocked me out for a good eight hours. I’d become a madman. I wanted to shake Edward for pushing me to mild drug use just to get a little shut-eye, but of course I couldn’t. While I waited for the drugs to kick in, I absently styled my wet hair into myriad interesting ‘do’s, and carefully picked and re-picked what I would wear the next day. With everything ready for the morning, I finally lay in my bed. I felt hyper; I couldn't stop twitching. I got up and rifled through my shoebox of CDs until I found a collection of Chopin's nocturnes. I put that on very quietly and then lay down again, concentrating on relaxing individual parts of my body. Somewhere in the middle of that exercise, the cold pills took effect, and I was gone.

I woke early, having slept soundly and dreamlessly thanks to my gratuitous drug use. Though I was well rested, I slipped right back into the same hectic frenzy from the night before. I dressed in a rush, popping my collar, then on second thought smoothing it against my neck, fidgeting with the tan sweater till it hung right over my jeans. I sneaked a swift look out the window to see that Charlie was already gone. A thin, cottony layer of clouds veiled the sky. They didn't look very lasting.

I ate breakfast without tasting the food, hurrying to clean up when I was done. I peeked out the window again, but nothing had changed. I had just finished brushing my teeth and was heading back downstairs when a quiet knock sent my heart thudding painfully against my rib cage.

“Ow.” I hissed, gripping the railing. “Calm down, damnit!”

I flew to the door; I had a little trouble with the simple dead bolt, but I yanked the door open at last, and there he was. All the agitation dissolved as soon as I looked at his face, calm taking its place. More drug use. I breathed a sigh of relief—yesterday's fears seemed very foolish with him here.

He wasn't smiling at first—his face was somber. But then his expression lightened as he looked me over, and he laughed.

"Good morning," he chuckled.

"What's wrong?" I glanced down to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything important, like shoes, or maybe pants. I was really hoping it wasn’t pants.

"We match." He laughed again. I realized he had a long, light tan sweater on, with a white collar showing underneath, and blue jeans. I laughed with him, hiding the secret twinge of shame that our matching outfits had brought on—because it only really highlighted the difference between us, didn’t it?

I locked the door behind me while he walked to the truck. He waited by the passenger door with a martyred expression that was easy to understand and hard not to mock.

"Oh, deal with it, Sulky McSulks-a-lot," I finally threw out, giving in, climbing quickly into the driver's seat after saying it, and reaching over to unlock his door without looking, for fear of his put-upon scowl.

"So where to?" I asked.

"Put your seat belt on—I'm nervous already."

I sighed, but ultimately complied.

"Where to, gov’na?" I repeated in a passable British accent, curiosity making me want to bounce in my seat, the anxiety of last night completely forgotten, apparently.

"Take the one-oh-one north," he ordered.

It was surprisingly difficult to concentrate on the road while feeling his gaze on my face. I compensated by driving more carefully than usual through the still-sleeping town.

"Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?"

"This truck is old enough to be your car's grandpappy—have some respect," I retorted.

We were soon out of the town limits, despite his negativity. Thick underbrush and green-swathed trunks replaced the lawns and houses.

"Turn right on the one-ten," he instructed just as I was about to ask. I obeyed.

"Now we drive until the pavement ends."

I could hear a smile in his voice, but I was too afraid of driving off the road and proving him right to look over and be sure.

"And what's there, where the pavement ends?" I wondered.

"A trail."

"We're hiking?" Thankfully I'd worn boots. Not that I had brought much other footwear to Forks. It was a boots kind of place.

"Is that a problem?" He sounded as if he'd expected as much.

"I’m good with trails." I tried to keep the ‘but’ out of my voice. If he thought my truck was slow...

"Don't worry, it's only five miles or so, and we're in no hurry."

Five miles. I didn't answer, so that he wouldn't hear my voice crack in panic. Five miles of treacherous roots and loose stones, trying to break my legs or worse if they had their way. Oh, this was going to be such fun. I hardened myself against the inevitable humiliation.

We drove in silence for a while as I contemplated the oncoming horror.

"What are you thinking?" he asked impatiently after a few moments.

And I knew I couldn’t lie convincingly. "Eep? That about sums it up I think. Where does this hell-path lead, pray-tell."

"It's a place I like to go when the weather is nice." We both glanced out the windows at the thinning clouds after he spoke.

"Charlie said it would be warm today."

"And did you tell Charlie what you were up to?" he asked.

"Sure. I’m up to laundry and homework."

"But Jessica thinks we're going to Seattle together?" He seemed cheered by the idea.

"Not anymore we’re not. I told her you canceled on me—which is true, by the way."

"No one knows you're with me?" Angrily, now.

"That depends... I assume you told Jasper?"

"That's very helpful, Beau," he snapped.

I pretended I didn't hear that.

"Are you so depressed by Forks that it's made you suicidal?" he demanded when I ignored him.

"Like it matters,” I retorted. “ It’s either going to happen or it isn’t, and you said it might cause trouble for you... us being together publicly, if it does," I reminded him.

"So you're worried about the trouble it might cause  _ me _ if you don't come  _ home _ ?" His voice was still angry, and bitingly sarcastic.

“Yup, seems that way,” I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road.

He muttered something under his breath, speaking so quickly that I couldn't understand.

We were silent for the rest of the drive. I could feel the waves of infuriated disapproval rolling off of him, and I could think of nothing to say.

And then the road ended, constricting to a thin foot trail with a small wooden marker. I parked on the narrow shoulder and stepped out, awkward because he was angry with me and I didn't have driving as an excuse not to look at him anymore. It was warm now, warmer than it had been in Forks since the day I'd arrived, almost muggy under the clouds. I pulled off my sweater and knotted it around my waist, just in case, glad that I'd worn the light, short sleeve shirt - especially if I had five miles of hiking ahead of me.

I heard his door slam, and looked over to see that he'd removed his sweater, too, though left his in the car. His long sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and I could see the muscle of his forearms were taught. He was facing away from me, into the unbroken forest beside my truck.

"This way," he said, glancing over his shoulder at me, eyes still disapproving. He started into the dark forest.

"The trail?" Panic was clear in my voice as I hurried around the truck to catch up to him.

"I said there was a trail at the end of the road, not that we were taking it."

"But—no trail?" I asked, again desperate for him to change the answer.

"I won't let you get lost." He turned then, with a mocking smile, and I stifled a gasp. His white shirt was unbuttoned, so that the smooth white skin of his throat flowed uninterrupted over the marble contours of his chest—his perfect musculature no longer merely hinted at behind his clothes. He was too perfect, I realized with a piercing stab of despair. There was no way this godlike creature could be meant for me.

He stared at me, bewildered by my tortured expression.

"Do you want to go home?" he said quietly, a different pain than mine saturating his voice.

"Not on your unnaturally long life." I walked forward till I was close beside him, anxious not to waste one second of whatever time I might have with him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"I'm not a good hiker," I answered sullenly. "And you’re too perfect."

"Oh, I’m definitely not that. I’m notoriously impatient, for example." He smiled, holding my glance, and holding out a steady hand, trying to lift me out of my sudden, unexplained dejection.

I tried to smile back, but the smile was unconvincing. He scrutinized my face.

"I'll take you home," he promised. I couldn't tell if the promise was for now, or for later. I knew he thought it was fear that upset me, and I was grateful again that I was the one person whose mind he couldn't hear. I’d told him the truth, but not really. Not in a way that he’d believe. He was too perfect. And I was too not.

"If you want me to hack five miles through the literal rainforest before sundown, you'd better start leading the way," I said acidly. He frowned at me, struggling to understand my tone and expression.

He gave up after a moment and led the way into the forest.

It wasn't as hard as I had feared. The way was mostly flat, and he held the damp ferns and webs of moss aside for me. When his straight path took us over fallen trees or boulders, he would help me, lifting me by the elbow, and then releasing me instantly when I was clear. His cold touch on my skin never failed to make my heart pummel my ribcage. Twice, when that happened, I caught a look on his face that made me sure he could somehow hear it.

I tried to keep my eyes away from his perfection as much as possible, but I slipped often. Each time, his beauty pierced me through with sadness. It tortured me.

For the most part, we walked in silence. Occasionally he would ask a random question that he hadn't gotten to in the past two days of interrogation. He asked about my birthdays, my grade school teachers, my childhood pets—and I had to admit that after killing three fish in a row, I'd given up on the whole institution. He laughed at that, louder than I was used to—bell-like echoes bouncing back to us from the empty woods.

The hike took me most of the morning, but he never showed any sign of his supposedly marring impatience. The forest spread out around us in a boundless labyrinth of ancient trees, and I was on the verge of anxiousness that we would never find our way out again. He was perfectly at ease, comfortable in the green maze, never seeming to feel any doubt about our direction. It banished my anxiety before it really had a chance to find a hand-hold.

After several hours, the light that filtered through the canopy transformed, the murky olive tone shifting to a brighter jade. The day had turned sunny, just as he'd foretold. For the first time since we'd entered the woods, I felt a thrill of excitement—which quickly turned to impatience.

"Are we there yet?" I asked, completely aware of my childishness and unrepentant.

"Nearly." He smiled at the change in my mood. "Do you see the brightness ahead?"

I peered into the thick forest. "Um, no?"

He smirked. "Maybe it's a bit soon for your eyes."

"Hello inferiority, oh how I’ve missed you," I muttered. His smirk grew more pronounced.

But then, after another hundred yards, I could definitely see a lightening in the trees ahead, a glow that was yellow instead of green. I picked up the pace, my eagerness growing with every step. He let me lead now, following noiselessly.

I reached the edge of the pool of light and stepped through the last fringe of ferns into the prettiest place I had ever seen. The meadow was small, perfectly round, and filled with wildflowers—violet, yellow, and soft white. Somewhere nearby, I could hear the bubbling music of a stream. The sun was directly overhead, filling the circle with a haze of buttery sunshine. I half expected a Hobbit to walk by as I moved slowly, awestruck, through the soft grass, swaying flowers, and warm, gilded air. I half-turned, wanting to share this with him, but he wasn't behind me where I thought he'd be. I spun around, searching. Finally I spotted him, still under the dense shade of the canopy at the edge of the hollow, watching me with cautious eyes. Only then did I remember what the beauty of the meadow had driven from my mind—the enigma of Edward and the sun, which he'd promised to illustrate for me today.

I took a step back toward him, my eyes surely alight with curiosity. His eyes were wary, reluctant. I smiled encouragingly and beckoned to him with my hand, as he’d done earlier, taking another step back to him. He held up a hand in warning, and I hesitated, rocking back onto my heels.

Edward seemed to take a deep breath, and then he stepped out into the bright glow of the midday sun.


	14. Confessions

Edward in the sunlight had knocked the breath out of my lungs and left me feeling like someone had kneed me in the gut. That was hours ago, and I still felt breathless and bruised, though I'd been staring at him all afternoon. His skin, white despite the faint flush from yesterday's hunting trip, literally sparkled, as if the stone he’d been carved from had thousands of pinprick diamonds embedded in the surface. He lay perfectly still in the grass, his shirt open over his sculpted, incandescent chest, his strong forearms bare, his face...

His glistening, pale lavender lids were shut, though of course he didn't sleep. A perfect statue, smooth like marble, glittering like crystal, unmovable, unreachable.

Now and then, his lips would move, so fast it looked like they were trembling. When I asked, he told me he was singing to himself, but it was too low for me to hear.

I enjoyed the sun, too, though the air wasn't quite dry enough for my taste. I would have liked to lie back, as he did, and let the sun warm my face. But I stayed curled up, my chin resting on my knees, unwilling to take my eyes off him. My metaphorical bruises demanded I stay still. The wind was gentle; it played with my hair and ruffled the grass that swayed around his motionless form.

The meadow, so spectacular to me at first, was nothing next to him.

Hesitantly, always afraid, even now, that he would disappear like a mirage, too beautiful to be real... hesitantly, I reached out one finger and stroked the back of his shimmering hand, where it lay within my reach. I marveled again at the perfect texture, satin smooth, cool as stone. When I looked up again, his eyes were open, watching me. Butterscotch today, lighter, warmer after hunting. His quick smile turned up the corners of his flawless lips.

"I don't scare you?" he asked playfully, but I could hear the real curiosity in his soft voice.

"By sparkling? No, no more than usual—so basically, not at all."

He smiled wider; his teeth flashed in the sun.

I inched closer, stretched out my whole hand now to trace the contours of his forearm with my fingertips. I saw that my fingers had a slight tremble and knew it wouldn't escape his notice.

"Do you mind?" I whispered. He’d closed his eyes again.

"No," he said, without opening his eyes. "You can't imagine how that feels." He sighed.

I lightly trailed my hand over the perfect muscles of his arm, watching his face every so often, my own breath deepening, following the faint pattern of bluish veins inside the crease at his elbow. With my other hand, I reached to turn his hand over. Realizing what I wished, he flipped his palm up in one of those blindingly fast, disconcerting movements of his. My fingers froze on his arm for a brief second, adjusting to the sudden shift in reality.

"Sorry," he murmured. I looked up in time to see his golden eyes close again. "It's too easy to be myself with you."

I lifted his hand, turning it this way and that as I watched the sun glitter on his palm. I held it closer to my face, trying to see the hidden facets in his palm, the way they interacted with the lines there. I had the sudden urge to kiss it, my breath ghosting back hotly off of it.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he whispered. I looked to see his eyes were watching me, suddenly intent. His chest rose and fell now rapidly, though I knew it didn’t need to. "It's still so strange for me, not knowing."

"Not knowing is kind of the norm for me. Even about myself a lot of the time."

"It's a hard life, isn’t it?" Did I imagine the hint of regret in his tone? "But you didn't really answer."

"I was wishing I could know what you were thinking..." I only partly lied. I was wishing I knew if Edward would want me to kiss his palm, if that was allowed in his complicated view of things.

"And?"

"I was wishing that I could believe that you were real. And I was wishing that I wasn't afraid."

"I don't want you to be afraid." His voice was just a soft murmur. I heard what he couldn't truthfully say, that I didn't need to be afraid, that there was nothing to fear.

"Anymore, you mean?” I shook my head. “I don’t think I’ve ever been afraid of you like that. I’m sorry, because I can tell that upsets you, but I’ve never been afraid that you’d kill me."

So quickly that I missed his movement, he was half sitting, propped up on his right arm, his left palm still in my hands. His angel's face was only a few inches from mine. I might have—should have—flinched away from his unexpected closeness, but I didn’t. His golden eyes were all I saw.

"What are you afraid of, then?" he whispered intently.

But I couldn't answer. As I had just that once before, I smelled his cool breath in my face. Sweet, delicious, the scent made my mouth water. It was unlike anything else. Instinctively, unthinkingly, I leaned closer, needing to taste him.

And he was gone, his hand ripped from mine. In the time it took my eyes to focus, he was twenty feet away, standing at the edge of the small meadow, in the deep shade of a huge fir tree. He stared at me, his eyes dark in the shadows, his expression unreadable.

I could feel the hurt and shock on my face at the rejection. My empty hands stung. When the shock had a few seconds to fade, I realized what I’d done.

"Shit—Edward, I’m sorry," I said softly. I knew he could hear. “I swear I’m not trying to force you to kill me.”

"Give me a moment," he called, just loud enough for my less-sensitive ears. I sat very still.

After ten incredibly long seconds, he walked back, slowly for him. He stopped, still several feet away, and sank gracefully to the ground, crossing his legs. His eyes never left mine. He took two deep breaths, and then smiled in apology.

"I am so very sorry." He hesitated. "Would you understand what I meant if I said I was only human?"

I nodded once, able to smile at his joke.

“Me too. It’s a big club, I hear.”

And his smile turned mocking.

"I'm the world's best predator, aren't I? Everything about me invites you in—my voice, my face, even my smell. As if I need any of that." Unexpectedly, he was on his feet, then instantly out of sight, only to appear beneath the same tree as before, having presumably circled the meadow in half a second.

"As if you could outrun me," he laughed bitterly, voice more pained than I’d ever heard it.

He reached up with one hand and, with a deafening crack, effortlessly ripped a two-foot-thick branch from the trunk of the spruce. He balanced it in that hand for a moment, and then threw it with blinding speed, shattering it against another huge tree, which shook and trembled at the blow.

And he was in front of me again, standing two feet away, still as a stone.

"As if you could fight me off," he whispered thickly, trembling.

I sat without moving, frightened at this new level of pain that radiated from him. I'd never seen him so completely freed of his carefully cultivated facade. He'd never been less human... or more vulnerable, I realized. I realized that he was waiting for my decision, too. Face calm, but tears in my eyes, I did my best not to wrap my arms around him, to still the tremor in his tensely squared shoulders.

His lovely eyes seemed to burn into mine, taking in my every breath and twitch. Then, as the seconds passed, their fire smothered. His expression fully folded into the mask of ancient sadness I’d only seen around the edges of before.

"Don't be afraid," he murmured, his velvet voice unintentionally seductive, even in it’s desperation. "Please. I promise..." He hesitated. "I won’t hurt you. I swear I won’t." He seemed more concerned with convincing himself than me.

"Don't be afraid of me, Beau," he whispered again as he stepped closer, with exaggerated slowness. He sat sinuously, with deliberately unhurried movements, till our faces were on the same level, just a foot apart. He sat quietly gathering himself for a long while. I let him comfort himself, unable, for his sake, to do much myself.

"Please forgive me," he said formally, his mask slipped back into place, though a bit askew, yet. "I can control myself. You catch me off guard. You constantly trip me up. I'm on my best behavior now."

He waited, but I still couldn't speak. It was almost worse with this smooth veneer covering the pain I saw only moments ago. And it ran so deep. There was so much of it. My eyes spilled over.

"I'm not thirsty today, honestly." He winked.

At that I sobbed once, jagged broken bits of my useless agony escaping, my breath shaky and labored after. For his sake, I only allowed the sound of it to escape that once. I swallowed the next one back down. I made my nails relax from the furrows they’d dug in my palms as I’d fought not to comfort the raw and unending pain he’d just showed me, to soothe away his pathetic attempt to convince me it had never happened; I was worried they’d draw blood.

"Are you all right?" he asked tenderly—like it was me that was—like I’d been—reaching out slowly, carefully, to place his marble hand back in mine.

I looked at his smooth, cold hand, and then at his eyes. They were soft, repentant. I looked up fiercely into his eyes. I wanted to shake him. Wanted to somehow convey my revelation—that he wasn’t too perfect after all. That we felt the same, he and I, the same unworthiness. That he was afraid. I could see that he was afraid, and lonely, just like me. That, though I’d finally seen proof of his unnaturally long life, in the depth of his pain, he still felt small in this world, like I did—didn’t stroll through it like the god I had imagined him. He watched me, desperate for my approval. I could see that now. But—everyone was desperate, didn’t  _ he _ see that? Didn’t he know that we all were?

Human. So heartbreakingly human of him.

But I didn’t say— That ancient pain I saw through the cracks in his mask stopped me from saying any of that—that unendurable anguish at what he was, barely covered by who he wished to be. Who was I to tell him anything? I was a child. And yet, I was his equal in so many ways. And I could never have explained it. I knew that. Never have articulated my revelation into words in that moment. I let my face grow soft, gifting him a small smile. I looked back at his hand, and then deliberately returned to tracing the lines in his palm with my fingertip.

I could feel his answering smile. And it felt warm and thankful where it landed softly on my skin.

"So where were we, before I behaved so rudely?" he asked in the gentle cadences of an earlier century.

"Honestly Edward, I can't remember."

He smiled, but behind it there was the shame. Shame the same as I felt and that had me wondering why I’d ever been afraid of the decision that Edward would make; ever been intimidated by his flawless facade. My chest burned so fiercely for him at that moment, I feared I would combust. I wanted to protect him from his shame, from his fear and pain and sadness, from his guilt. Oh, it burned.

"I think we were talking about why you were afraid, besides the obvious reason."

"Obvious..." I was still too far away from the conversation.

"Well?"

I looked down at his hand and doodled aimlessly across his smooth, iridescent palm. The seconds ticked by.

"You can officially add easily frustrated to my list of imperfections," he sighed. I looked into his eyes, abruptly grasping that these feelings were every bit as new to him as they were to me. With as many years of unfathomable experience as he had, this was hard for him, too. I almost laughed at that thought, a bit hysterical at that point.

"The reason that I was afraid... it was that, because, for, well, what a moment ago seemed obvious reasons, you wouldn’t stay with me. And I want to stay with you. You don’t know how terrifying it is to want you..." I looked down at his hands as I spoke. It was difficult for me to say this aloud.

"Yes," he agreed slowly. "That is something to be afraid of, indeed. Wanting to be with me... it's really not in your best interest."

I grimaced, squeezing his hand tighter. He didn’t understand. Why couldn’t I ever make him understand what I felt?

"I should have left long ago," he sighed. "I should leave now. But I don't know if I can."

"Don’t," I growled in warning. “I don’t know what would happen, if—”

"Which is exactly why I should. But don't worry. I'm essentially a selfish creature. I crave your company too much to do what I should."

I let out a shaky breath, the anger draining with the terror. "Thank you. Edward, thank you. I can’t explain. I can’t make you see, but—" I knew I wasn’t making any sense, my eyes screwed shut and my grip on his hand almost painful, but my giddiness kept me talking. “But I’m so glad that you’re selfish.”

"Don't be!" He withdrew his hand easily despite my grip, more gently this time; his voice was harsher than usual. Harsh for him, still, to his shame no doubt, more beautiful than any human voice. It snapped me out of my shock. It didn’t change the way that I felt.

"It's not only your company I crave! Never forget that. Never forget I am more dangerous to you than I am to anyone else." He stopped, and I looked to see him gazing unseeingly into the forest.

I mentally rewound our conversation, my perplexed state clearing slightly.

"Okay, but first explain what it is that I should never forget. More dangerous?" I prompted.

He looked back at me and looked a bit stunned, clearly under the assumption that I was making decisions with more information than I’d had.

"How do I explain?" he mused. "And without frightening you again... hmmmm."

“Not hard. I’m surprised you couldn’t smell that I wasn’t afraid the first time.”

He seemed to think about that, recalling his outburst, perhaps, with the clarity of hindsight. Whatever he found there made him uncomfortable, it was clear, but paradoxically, his body relaxed. Without seeming to think about it, he placed his hand back in mine; I held it tightly in both of mine. He looked at our hands.

"That's amazingly pleasant, the warmth." He sighed.

A moment passed as he assembled his thoughts.

"You know how everyone enjoys different flavors?" he began.

This ought to be interesting.

"Some people love chocolate ice cream, others prefer strawberry?"

I nodded.

"Sorry about the food analogy—I couldn't think of another way to explain."

I smiled, feeling gracious. His mirrored smile came back rueful.

"You see, every person smells different, has a different essence. If you locked an alcoholic in a room full of stale beer, he'd gladly drink it. But he could resist, if he wished to, if he were a recovering alcoholic. Now let's say you placed in that room a glass of hundred-year-old brandy, the rarest, finest cognac—and filled the room with its warm aroma—how do you think he would fare then?"

We sat silently, looking into each other's eyes—trying to read each other's thoughts.

He broke the silence first.

"Maybe that's not the right comparison. Maybe it would be too easy to turn down the brandy. Perhaps I should have made our alcoholic a heroin addict instead."

"So, I'm your brand of heroin, figuratively speaking?" I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

He smiled swiftly, seeming to appreciate my effort. "Yes, you are  _ exactly _ my brand of heroin."

"I understand.” I said it as if it were a surprise. Perhaps it was. Perhaps it hadn’t really sunk in, my addiction to him, until that very moment. “Does that happen often, people smelling particularly good?" I asked, not knowing what else to ask.

He looked doubtful at my first words, but didn’t express the doubt aloud, then scanned the treetops upon hearing my second, thinking through his response.

"I spoke to my brothers about it." He still stared into the distance. "To Jasper, every one of you is much the same. He's the most recent to join our family. It's a struggle for him to abstain at all. He hasn't had time to grow sensitive to the differences in smell, in flavor." He glanced swiftly at me, his expression apologetic.

"Sorry," he said.

"I’m good with the food talk. I mean, it is your food, really. You’re not going to offend me, and you already know that you don’t scare me like you should. Explain away."

He took a deep breath and gazed at the sky again.

"So Jasper wasn't sure if he'd ever come across someone who was as," he hesitated, looking for the right word. "appealing, as you are to me. Which makes me think not. Even he would have to notice... Emmett has been on the wagon longer, so to speak, and he understood what I meant. He says twice, for him, once stronger than the other."

"And for you?"

"Never."

The word hung there for a moment in the warm breeze, little bits of pollen sticking to it.

"And Emmett killed them, didn’t he?" I asked, because I already knew.

His face grew dark, his hand clenched into a fist inside mine. He looked away. I waited, but he wasn't going to answer.

"So yes," I finally said.

He lifted his eyes; his expression was wistful, pleading.

"Even the strongest of us fall off the wagon, don't we?"

And I began laughing. I almost couldn’t stop.

"Seriously? What are you, asking my permission?" My voice was still a bit hysterical. And then I went abruptly quiet when I realized that I didn’t know what answer I would give, were he to ask. And I also realized that better men than me were safely tucked away in mental institutions for their own safety. I suddenly became afraid. "Please don’t ask. Please, okay?" I didn’t want to know what the answer would be. And he didn’t want to know how easy it could be.

"No, of course not!" He was instantly contrite. "Of course I wouldn’t! Beau..." He left my name hanging, alone, uttered with all the solemnity of a prayer. His eyes burned into mine. "I meant it to exonerate Emmett somehow. But it's different for us.” and his hand waved a gesture that encompassed us both and made us an us. “Emmett... these were strangers he happened across. It was a long time ago, and he wasn't as... practiced, as careful, as he is now."

He fell silent and watched me intently as I thought it through.

"So if we'd met in shadier circumstances... oh, in a dark alley, say..." I trailed off.

"It took everything I had not to jump up in the middle of that class full of children and—" He stopped abruptly, looking away. "When you walked past me, I could have ruined everything Carlisle has built for us, right then and there. If I hadn't been denying my thirst for the last, well, too many years, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself." He paused, scowling at the trees.

He glanced at me grimly, both of us remembering. "You must have thought I was possessed."

"Oh, no, it was pretty clear that you wanted to murder me. Of course, I thought it was a bit less literal..."

"To me, it was like you were some kind of demon, summoned straight from my own personal hell to ruin me. The fragrance coming off your skin... it made me deranged that first day. In that one hour, I thought of a hundred different ways to lure you from the room with me, to get you alone. And I fought them each back, thinking of my family, what I could do to them. I had to run out, to get away before I could speak the words that would make you follow..."

He looked up then at my staggered expression as I tried to absorb his bitter memories. His golden eyes scorched from under his lashes, hypnotic and deadly.

"You would have come," he promised.

I nodded, not questioning in the least. "Definitely."

He frowned down at my hands, releasing me from the force of his stare. "And then, as I tried to rearrange my schedule in a pointless attempt to avoid you, you were there—in that close, warm little room, the scent was maddening. I so very nearly took you then. There was only one other person there—so easily dealt with."

I saw my memories anew through his eyes, only now grasping the full danger. And god, was I still not afraid for myself? Poor Ms. Cope, though; I grimaced at how close I'd come to being inadvertently responsible for her death.

"But I resisted. I don't know how. I forced myself not to wait for you, not to follow you from the school. It was easier outside, when I couldn't smell you anymore, to think clearly, to make the right decision. I left the others near home—I was too ashamed to tell them how weak I was, they only knew something was very wrong—and then I went straight to Carlisle, at the hospital, to tell him I was leaving."

I stared in surprise.

"I traded cars with him—he had a full tank of gas and I didn't want to stop. I didn't dare to go home, to face Esme. She wouldn't have let me go without a scene. She would have tried to convince me that it wasn't necessary...

"By the next morning I was in Alaska." He sounded ashamed, as if admitting a great cowardice. "I spent two days there, with some old acquaintances... but I was homesick. I hated knowing I'd upset Esme, and the rest of them, my adopted family. In the pure air of the mountains it was hard to believe you were so irresistible. I convinced myself it was weak to run away. I'd dealt with temptation before, not of this magnitude, not even close, but I was strong. Who were you, an insignificant boy," he grinned suddenly, "to chase me from the place I wanted to be? So I came back..." He stared off into space.

I couldn't speak. Words had failed me.

"I took precautions, hunting, feeding more than usual before seeing you again. I was sure that I was strong enough to treat you like any other human. I was arrogant about it.

"It was unquestionably a complication that I couldn't simply read your thoughts to know what your reaction was to me. I wasn't used to having to resort to such circuitous measures, listening to your words in Jessica's mind... her mind is very chaotic, and it was annoying work. And then I couldn't know if you really meant what you said. It was all extremely irritating." He frowned at the memory.

"I wanted you to forget my behavior that first day, if possible, so I tried to talk with you like I would with any person. I was eager actually, hoping to decipher some of your thoughts. But you were too interesting, I found myself caught up in your expressions... and every now and then you would stir the air with your hand or ruffle your hair, and the scent would stun me again...

"Of course, then you were nearly crushed to death in front of my eyes. Later I thought of a perfectly good excuse for why I acted at that moment—because if I hadn't saved you, if your blood had been spilled there in front of me, I don't think I could have stopped myself from exposing us for what we are. But I only thought of that excuse later. At the time, all I could think was, 'Not him.'"

His eyes were closed, lost in his agonized confession. I listened, more rapt than rational, almost there with him in those moments he shared. He was talking about his efforts not to kill me, his continued efforts, and all I could feel was relief at finally understanding his actions. And the ever-present compassion for his suffering of course, I felt that; the fierce protectiveness that would drive it from him if possible, even now, as he confessed this craving for my blood.

I finally was able to speak, though my voice was faint. "Then, in the hospital?"

His eyes flashed up to mine. "I was appalled. I couldn't believe I had put us in danger after all, put myself in your power—you of all people. As if I needed another motive to kill you." He flinched as that word slipped out, his taught muscles jumping beneath his skin. "But it had the opposite effect," he continued quickly. "I fought with Rosalie, and Emmett, when they suggested that now was the time... the worst fight we've ever had. Carlisle sided with me, and Alice." He grimaced when he said her name. I couldn't imagine why. "Jasper stayed out of it, said he was in no position to be in any argument about blood, and Esme... Esme told me to do whatever I had to in order to stay." He shook his head indulgently.

"All that next day I eavesdropped on the minds of everyone you spoke to, shocked that you kept your word. I didn't understand you at all. But I knew that I couldn't become more involved with you. I did my very best to stay as far from you as possible. And every day the perfume of your skin, your breath, your hair... it hit me as hard as the very first day."

He met my eyes again, and they were surprisingly tender.

"And for all that," he continued, "I'd have fared better if I had exposed us all at that first moment, than if now, here—with no witnesses and nothing to stop me—I were to hurt you."

"Why?" And I knew why, but I was human enough to have to ask anyway; to have to hear him say it.

"Beauregard..." He pronounced my full name carefully, then carded his free hand through my hair, resting his cool palm at the nape of my neck for a moment before letting it leave. A shock ran through my body at his casual touch. "Beau, I couldn't live with myself if I ever hurt you. You don't know how it's tortured me." He looked down, ashamed again. "The thought of you, still, white, cold... to never see the blood dance under your skin, see it bloom in a flush when I embarrass you too badly, never feel your ire, or hear you speak, to never see that flash of intuition in your eyes when you see through my pretenses... it would be unendurable." He lifted his glorious, agonized eyes to mine. "You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing in all my life."

I felt that same flush creeping up my neck. No one had ever said things even remotely like this to me before. I had never been loved in this way. It was a little bit overwhelming, how far my estimation of Edward’s feelings had come in the space of less than a day. Hadn’t he been the perfect creature that I could never be worthy of, just this morning? The one that likely pitied me. And now… He waited, and I knew that his golden eyes were on me; I saw those patient eyes every time I tried and failed to make contact with them. There was a Buick parked in my throat, you see, and it was taking all the concentration I had to fight down the emotion that tried to hit me every time I saw those eyes. "How the hell am I supposed to follow that?" I finally managed. "I'm here... which, roughly translated, means I would rather die than stay away from you." I frowned. "Every time that you’re in pain, I want to kill whoever caused it. I want to touch you so bad every second of every day that it hurts. I get high just being around you, goddamnit. I'm a freaking idiot, but I’m pretty sure the sum of all those parts is that I love you, too."

"You are an idiot," he agreed with a laugh. Our eyes met, and I laughed, too. We laughed together at the idiocy and sheer impossibility of such a moment.

“At least we’re idiots together,” I mused.

"And so the lion fell in love with the lamb..." he murmured. I looked away, hiding my eyes as I thrilled to the word, so newly spoken, so newly felt.

"What a stupid lamb," I sighed.

"What a sick, masochistic lion." He stared into the shadowy forest for a long moment, and I wondered where his thoughts had taken him.

"Why... ?" I began, and then paused, not sure how to continue.

He looked at me and smiled; sunlight glinted off his face, his teeth.

"Yes?"

"No, that was it, just why, I’m feeling existential.” I laughed at his bemusement, then asked what I finally realized I’d been meaning to. “Tell me why you ran from me just now, when I got close."

His smile faded. "You know why."

"No, I mean, exactly what did I do to make it worse for you? I'll have to start learning all the unhelpful things to avoid doing them. This, for example," I stroked the back of his hand, "you seem cool with."

He smiled again. "But you didn't do anything wrong, Beau. It was my fault."

"It was your biology. And I want to help, if I can, to make not killing me easier on you."

"Well..." He contemplated for a moment. "It was just how close you were. Most humans instinctively shy away from us, are repelled by our alienness... I wasn't expecting you to come so close. And the smell of your  _ throat _ —" He stopped short, looking to see if he'd upset me. 

He hadn’t. I was trying my damnedest not to lean in again.

"See, helpful," I said flippantly, trying to alleviate the suddenly thick atmosphere. "But I draw the line at turtlenecks."

It worked; he laughed. "No, really, it was more the surprise than anything else."

He raised his free hand and placed it gently on the side of my neck. I tried to sit very still for him, the chill of his touch a natural warning—that apparently didn’t work on me. There was no feeling of fear in me. There were, however, other feelings...

"You see," he said. "Perfectly fine."

My blood was racing, I knew, trying to beat my breath, which I’d seemed to have lost control of. And I wished I could slow either, sensing that this must make everything so much more difficult—the thudding of my pulse in my veins especially. Surely he could hear it pounding through me, hear where all that blood was headed. Surely he must see what he was doing to me, with this simple touch.

"The blush on your cheeks is lovely," he whispered. “No need to be embarrassed.” He gently freed his other hand, mine falling limply into my lap in its absence. Softly he brushed my cheek, then held my face between his marble hands. He could crush it now. He could snap my neck. It felt so good, the cool flesh against my flushed skin.

"Be very still," he whispered, as if I wasn't already as still as I could manage.

Slowly, never moving his eyes from mine, he leaned toward me. Then abruptly, but very gently, he rested his cold cheek against the hollow at the base of my throat. I didn’t want to move.

I listened to the sound of his even breathing, watching the sun and wind play in his bronze hair, which was somehow more human than any other part of him.

With deliberate slowness, his hands slid down the sides of my neck. I couldn’t help leaning into his touch, my head dipping to chase his right hand, and I heard him catch his breath. Mine I’d given up for lost. His hands didn't pause as they softly moved to my shoulders, and then stopped, his thumb brushing the dip between my clavicles. My body was on fire. I was so sensitive; my hyperawareness in his presence magnifying every sensation. My jeans weren’t loose enough to be comfortable anymore.

His face drifted to the side, his nose now skimming across my collarbone. He came to rest with the side of his face pressed tenderly against my chest. Listening to my heart.

"Ah," he sighed.

I don't know how long we sat without moving. It could have been hours. Eventually the throb of my pulse quieted, my constriction thankfully easing, but he didn't move or speak again as he held me. I knew at any moment it could be too much, and my life could end—so quickly that I might not even notice. But I didn’t think about it. I couldn't think of anything, my world narrowed to the places where his skin touched mine and the lightning could pass freely between us.

And then, too soon, he released me.

His eyes were peaceful. I was restless.

"It won't be so hard again," he said with satisfaction.

"It was hard this time?"

"Not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be. And you?"

"Bad wouldn’t be the word I’d use. Hard would definitely play a role in the description."

He smiled at my clarification. "You know what I mean."

I smiled.

"Here." He took my hand and placed it against his cheek. "Do you feel how warm it is?"

And it was almost warm, his usually icy skin. But I barely noticed. I was touching his face, something I'd ached for constantly since the first day I'd seen him.

"Don't move," I whispered huskily.

No one could be still like Edward. He closed his eyes and became as immobile as stone, a carving under my hand.

I moved even more slowly than he had, careful not to make one unexpected move. I caressed his cheek, delicately stroked his eyelid, the purple shadow in the hollow under his eye. I traced the shape of his perfect nose, and then, so carefully, his flawless lips. His lips parted under my hand, and I could feel his cool breath on my fingertips. I wanted to lean in, to inhale the scent of him. But I didn’t push. Instead I let my fingers trail down his shoulder, over the bare expanse of his forearm, until they reached his hand, which I slowly brought up till I could look down into the gentle cup of his palm. I let myself have one thing. My breath tickled his palm once as I brought it toward my lips, then twice, that moist hot exhalation against his skin, and before a third could caress it I laid a soft kiss to the lined flesh, directly in the middle of his palm, eyes turned to his face as I did it.

He opened his eyes, and they were hungry. Not in a way to make me fear, but rather to tighten the muscles in the pit of my stomach and send my pulse hammering through my veins again, my breath gasping out of me.

"I wish," he whispered, "I wish you could feel the...complexity...the confusion...I feel. That you could understand."

He raised his hand to my hair and carefully brushed it out of my face.

"Tell me," I breathed, trying to regain control of myself.

"I don't think I can. I've told you, on the one hand, the hunger—the thirst—that, deplorable creature that I am, I feel for you. And I think you can understand that, to an extent. Though," he half-smiled, "as you are not addicted to any illegal substances, you probably can't empathize completely.”

But I could. I was high now. And the comedown would be hard as any drug.

"But..." His fingers touched my lips lightly, making the breath that I’d just got under control come ragged once more. "There are other hungers. Hungers I don't even understand—that are foreign to me."

"Not to me. Christ, if you touch me again, I’m going to jump you and then you’re probably going to kill me, and the thing is, I probably wouldn’t even care cause I’d be touching you again."

He chuckled, huskily. "I'm not used to feeling so human. Is it always like this?"

"You got me." I paused. "I’ve never...wanted. Never before this. But god, do I now."

He held my hands between his. They felt secure. I stopped feeling like I’d blow away.

"I don't know how to be close to you," he admitted. "I don't know if I can."

I leaned forward very slowly, cautioning him with my eyes. I placed my cheek against his stone chest. I could hear his breath, and nothing else. I could be patient. If he could contain his monster, I could contain mine.

"This, just this, is fine," I sighed, closing my eyes. For now.

I felt traitorous at the thought. My monster grinned from its cage. I turned my back on it.

In a very human gesture, he put his arms around me and pressed his face against my hair.

"You've got cuddling down," I noted.

"I have human instincts, it would seem—they may be buried deep, but they're there."

We sat like that for another immeasurable moment; I wondered if he could be as unwilling to move as I was. But I could see the light was fading, the shadows of the forest beginning to touch us, and I sighed.

"You have to go."

"What, you can suddenly read my mind?"

"It's getting clearer." I could hear a smile in his voice.

He took my shoulders and I looked into his face.

"Can I show you something?" he asked, sudden excitement flaring in his eyes.

"Yes. Anything that you’re this excited about is an automatic yes."

"I'll show you how I travel in the forest." I tried to puzzle out the means, and he must have mistook the look on my face for worry. Clueless. 

"Don't worry, you'll be very safe, and we'll get to your truck much faster." His mouth twitched up into that crooked smile, the one that stopped my heart.

"Okay, so, when you turn into a bat, are you like, a cloud of bats, or one giant bat, because I’ve always wanted to crowd surf on a cloud of bats." I rambled, not knowing where the words came from any more than I usually did.

He laughed, louder than I'd ever heard. "You  _ would _ need to know the physics behind it."

"You actually turn into a cloud of bats?!"

He backpedaled a moment, then raised his finger, about to argue, then paused again, settling for a simple, "No."

“Fine. Shatter my dreams with a one syllable answer.” My voice was full of fake hurt.

Shaking his head, he grasped one of my hands and spun around, grabbing the other then pulling my arms up, making me his marionette, until my palms rested on his shoulders.

“I run, obviously. Now climb on my back you stalling coward.”

I waited to see if he was kidding, but, apparently, he meant it. He smiled, probably reading the way my face scrunched up trying to work out the logistics as hesitation, and reached behind himself to get a grip on me. My heart reacted; even though he couldn't hear my thoughts, my pulse always gave me away. He slung me onto his back like an old backpack and I reacted to my new position, clamping my legs and arms so tightly around him that it would choke a normal person. I was the moss clinging to a stone.

"I'm a bit heavier than your average backpack," I warned.

"You’re like an octopus," he laughed. “The weight isn’t a problem. You don’t have to cling quite so tightly, I promise not to drop you at freeway speeds.” I clung tighter out of spite. And I smiled. I'd never seen him in such high spirits before.

He startled me, suddenly grabbing my hand, pressing my palm to his face, and inhaling deeply. He planted a retaliatory kiss and I reacted predictably and immediately.

"Easier all the time," he chuckled.

And then he was running.

It was beautiful. I forgot to cling, almost letting go completely at times.

He streaked through the dark, thick underbrush of the forest like a bullet, like a ghost. There was no sound, no evidence that his feet touched the earth. His breathing never changed, never indicated any effort. But the trees flew by at deadly glorious speeds, always missing us by inches.

I couldn’t make myself close my eyes, though the cool forest air whipped against my face and burned them. I felt as if I were a dog sticking my head out the window of an airplane mid-flight. And it felt good.

Then it was over. We'd hiked hours this morning to reach Edward's meadow, and now, in a matter of minutes, we were back to the truck.

"Exhilarating, isn't it?" His voice was high, excited.

He stood motionless, waiting for me to climb down. I couldn’t make myself. I tried, but only halfheartedly, and my muscles rebelled. My arms and legs stayed locked around him and I began laughing. I couldn’t stop that either.

"Beau?" he asked, a bit anxious.

"Can we go again?" I gasped in between the laughter.

"If you promise to stop laughing like I’ve driven you mad." He waited for me to stop, or get down, but I still couldn't move.

"I can’t. I’ve tried. I can’t get down either. I think I need help," I admitted. But my laughter was finally beginning to become manageable. And though I couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot, I at least made the effort to stop the constant loud peals.

He laughed quietly now that he knew he hadn’t broken me somehow, and gently loosened my renewed stranglehold on his neck. There was no resisting the iron strength of his hands. Then he pulled me around to face him, cradling me against him like a small child. He held me for a moment, then carefully placed me on the springy ferns. I of course immediately tripped backwards over a tree root and landed on a mossy bank behind me, which was nice enough to cushion my fall. I could feel Edward trying not to laugh. Instead of waiting for me to rise, he took a seat beside me.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

I couldn't be sure how I felt. "I don’t think there’s a word for it. It’ll take too long to come up with one."

"But it’s a good word?"

I nodded at that, and he nodded too, more to himself than to me. I could feel him next to me. Moments passed, and eventually my grin lost its rigidity, grew soft. I wanted his hand in mine, but I was suddenly shy. Then his hand  _ was _ in mine, somehow. Almost as if he’d read my mind.

"It’s late," he said, a bit sadly. “I’ll have to give you a raincheck on running again.”

I snorted back a burst of laughter at that and had him laughing too in short order. "I’d love that," I finally managed.

"I would, as well." Then he turned to me, confusion written on his face. “How can you take my abnormality so in stride? You see through me as if it’s you who can read minds. Beau, how are you so perfect?”

"Aaand with that I think we’ve come full circle. This morning, it was you that was perfect."

"Well we’ve disproven that, at the very least."

“No, I think it still stands," I breathed, running my thumb across the back of his hand, feeling more peaceful than I’ve ever felt. “I still think you’re perfect, Edward. It’s just that thinking about it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

He laughed, a bit derisively. “Am I to take your place entirely then?” he murmured bemusedly, so low that I knew the words were mostly meant for himself.

"I’m not perfect, Edward. Don’t hurt yourself with me. You know how I feel about the things that cause you pain."

At some point I’d closed my eyes, complete in my relaxation, and when he spoke next Edward’s voice had migrated much closer.

"Open your eyes, Beau," he whispered, breath ghosting my skin.

And he was right there, his face inches from mine. He was so perfect in his flawed, preternatural way.

"I was thinking, while I was running..." He paused.

"About not hitting the trees?"

"Don’t be absurd," he chuckled. "Running is second nature to me, it's not something I have to think about."

"Show-off," I grinned.

He returned it.

"No," he continued, "I was thinking there was something I wanted to try." And he took my face in his hands again.

And I died again, for a brief moment. His hobby was, apparently, killing me.

He hesitated—not in the normal way, the human way. Not the way a man might hesitate before he kissed a woman—or another man, I supposed idly—to gauge their reaction, to see how he would be received, or to perhaps prolong the moment, that ideal moment of anticipation, sometimes better than the kiss itself. I was positive he intended to kiss me.

Edward hesitated to test himself, to see if this was safe, to make sure he was still in control of his need.

And then his cold, marble lips pressed very softly against mine.

What neither of us was prepared for was my response; my monster ripping free of its cage.

Blood boiled under my skin, burned in my lips. My breath came in a ragged, wild gasp. My fingers knotted in his hair, pulling, clutching him to me. My lips parted as I breathed in his heady scent.

Immediately I felt him turn to unresponsive stone beneath my lips. His hands gently, but with irresistible force, pushed my face back. I opened my eyes and saw his guarded expression.

"Shit," I breathed.

"That would be an understatement."

His eyes were wild, his jaw clenched in acute restraint, yet he didn't lapse from his perfect articulation. He held my face just inches from his. It was torture.

"Should I... ?" I thumbed to the space behind me, trying to disengage myself, to give him some room.

His hands refused to let me move so much as an inch.

"No, it's tolerable. Wait for a moment, please." His voice was polite, controlled.

I kept my eyes on his, watched as the excitement in them faded and gentled.

Then he smiled a surprisingly impish grin.

"There," he said, obviously pleased with himself.

"Tolerable?" I asked, a little peevishly.

He laughed aloud. "I'm stronger than I thought. It's nice to know."

"Yeah, well at least one of us is. I'm sorry, I just couldn’t..." My fingers grasped uselessly at the air, searching for words.

"You are only human, after all."

"Thanks ever so much for that, Edward," I said, my voice acerbic.

He was on his feet in one of his lithe, almost invisibly quick, movements. He held out his hand to me, an unexpected gesture. I was so used to our standard of careful non-contact. I took his icy hand eagerly, not really needing the support, just wanting to be touching him. Always.

"You accepted my help,” he said in mock surprise. “Are you faint from the run? Or was it my kissing expertise?" And it amazed me how lighthearted, how human he seemed as he laughed now, his seraphic face untroubled. This was yet another side to Edward than the ones I had been privileged to see. And I was all the more besotted by him. I wondered if it would cause me pain to stop touching him now. If my addiction had taken a turn for the worse.

"Oh, definitely the kissing," I managed to respond. "though it was mostly my expertise on display."

"Maybe you should let me drive."

"You’ll break my truck." I protested.

"I can drive better than you on your best day," he teased. "You have much slower reflexes."

"You can drive  _ faster _ than me on my best day. Not the same thing. And leave my reflexes out of this."

"Some trust, please, Beau."

My hand was in my pocket, curled tightly around the key. I pursed my lips, deliberated, then shook my head with a tight grin.

"Nope. No trust. You’ll break it on purpose just for daring to be so slow."

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

I started to step around him, heading for the driver's side. He might have let me pass if I hadn't wobbled slightly. Damn my reflexes, anyway. Then again, he might not have. His arm created an inescapable snare around my waist.

"Beau, I've already expended a great deal of personal effort at this point to keep you alive. I'm not about to let you behind the wheel of a vehicle when you can't even walk straight. Friends don't let friends drive drunk," he quoted with a chuckle. Sparkly bastard.

"Drunk?" I objected. I was high, thank you very much.

"You're intoxicated by my very presence." He was grinning that playful smirk again.

"So?" I argued, but halfheartedly. There was no way around it; I couldn't resist him in anything. I held the key high and dropped it, watching his hand flash like lightning to catch it soundlessly. "Just, take it easy, okay? My truck is a senior citizen."

"I’ll be gentle," he assured, probably not going for sexy in the context of senior citizens. He still failed.

"You’re not affected at all?" I asked, not able to stop myself. "By my presence?" I knew the answer.

Again his mobile features transformed, his expression became soft, warm, then glowed hotter. He didn't answer at first; he simply bent his face to mine, and brushed his lips slowly along my jaw, from my ear to my chin, back and forth. Then his breath came as ragged as mine had been. He retreated slowly, clearly fighting.

"Regardless," he finally murmured, "I still have the better reflexes."


	15. Mind Over Matter

He did drive well, even at less epic speeds. Like so many things, it seemed to come effortlessly to him. He barely looked at the road, yet the tires never deviated so much as a centimeter from the center of the lane. He drove one-handed, his other in mine, our clasped palms pillowed by the seat between us. Sometimes he gazed in the direction of the setting sun, sometimes he glanced at me—my face, watched my hair gone wild with wind from the open window, glanced down at our hands twined together.

He had turned the radio to an oldies station, and he sang along with a song I'd never heard. He knew every line.

"Cool song. You like a lot of fifties music?" I asked.

"Music in the fifties was good. Much better than the music of the sixties, or the seventies, ugh!" He shuddered. "The eighties were bearable."

"Really? Hating on punk rock this early in the relationship? Does not bode well.” 

I had to tease. It was our language. Of course, then the thought that had been rolling around in my brain for weeks came out without asking me first. “So are you ever going to tell me how old you are?” Awkward questions were our second language. “Or are you planning on drawing out the torturous mystery for as long as you can get away with?" I tried to save myself, at least. I was never really sure what would tip his mood or in which way it would tip once it had, and I was liking this mood just fine; this Edward who held my hand and sang oldies and smiled with a smile that looked like he’d minted it just for me.

"Does it matter much?" His smile, thankfully, remained unclouded.

"Well, yeah, of course it does." I said. "How am I supposed to really know you if I don’t know something as trivial as your age? I don’t know when you grew up, what events have shaped who you are." I left it at that. Of course it mattered. He had wanted to know my favorite flavor of ice cream for Christ’s sake.

"I wonder if it will upset you," he reflected to himself. He gazed into the direction of the setting sun; the minutes passed.

"Out of all the things that could have upset me and didn’t..." I finally said, leaving my thought hanging, because I didn’t really need to finish, did I?

He sighed, and then looked into my eyes, seeming to forget the road completely for a time. Whatever he saw there must have encouraged him. He looked back toward the sun—the light of its setting glittered off his skin in fiery sparks—and spoke.

"I was born in Chicago, in 1901." He paused and glanced at me from the corner of his eyes. My face was probably less surprised and more curious. I was digging up all the things I knew about the early 20th century. He smiled a tiny smile and continued. "Carlisle found me in a hospital in the summer of 1918. I was seventeen and dying of the Spanish influenza."

He heard my intake of breath, though it was barely audible to my own ears. He looked into my eyes again.

"I don't remember it well—it was a very long time ago, and human memories fade." He was lost in his thoughts for a short time before he went on. "I do remember how it felt, when Carlisle saved me. It's not an easy thing, not something you could forget."

"Were you, I mean... your parents?"

"They had already died from the disease. I was alone. That was why he chose me. In all the chaos of the epidemic, no one would ever realize that I was gone."

"How did he... save you?"

A few seconds passed before he answered. He seemed to choose his words carefully.

"It was difficult. Not many of us have the restraint necessary to accomplish it. But Carlisle has always been the most humane, the most compassionate of us... I don't think you could find his equal throughout all of history." He paused. "For me, it was merely very, very painful."

I could tell from the set of his lips, he would say no more on this subject. I tried to suppress my curiosity, though it was far from idle. There were many things I needed to think through on this particular issue, things that were occurring to me in such rapid succession that I couldn’t tie any one question down long enough to even think about asking it.

His soft voice interrupted my thoughts. "He acted from loneliness. That's usually the reason behind the choice. I was the first in Carlisle's family, though he found Esme soon after. She fell from a cliff. They brought her straight to the hospital morgue, though, somehow, her heart was still beating."

"So you have to be dying, then, to become..." We never said the word, and I couldn't frame it now.

"No, that's just Carlisle. He would never do that to someone who had another choice." The respect in his voice was profound whenever he spoke of his father figure. "It is easier he says, though," he continued, "if the blood is weak." He looked at the now-dark road, and I could feel the subject closing again. I put my foot in the door.

"And Emmett and Rosalie?"

"Carlisle brought Rosalie to our family next. I didn't realize till much later that he was hoping she would be to me what Esme was to him—he was careful with his thoughts around me." He rolled his eyes. "But she was never more than a sister. It was only two years later that she found Emmett. She was hunting—we were in Appalachia at the time—and found a bear about to finish him off. She carried him back to Carlisle, more than a hundred miles, afraid she wouldn't be able to do it herself. I'm only beginning to guess how difficult that journey was for her." He threw a pointed glance in my direction, and raised our hands, still folded together, to brush my cheek with the back of his hand.

"But she made it," I encouraged, trapped by the unbearable beauty of his eyes.

"Yes," he murmured. "She saw something in his face that made her strong enough. And they've been together ever since. Sometimes they live separately from us, as a married couple. But the younger we pretend to be, the longer we can stay in any given place. Forks seemed perfect, so we all enrolled in high school." He laughed. "I suppose we'll have to go to their wedding in a few years, again."

"Alice and Jasper?"

"Alice and Jasper are two very rare creatures. They both developed a conscience, as we refer to it, with no outside guidance. Jasper belonged to another... family—a very different kind of family. He became depressed, and he wandered on his own. Alice found him. Like me, she has certain gifts above and beyond the norm for our kind. Jasper does as well."

"Different gifts?" I interrupted, fascinated. "You said you were the only one who could hear people's thoughts."

"That's true. She knows other things. She sees things—things that might happen, things that are coming. But it's very subjective. The future isn't set in stone. Things change."

His jaw set when he said that, and his eyes darted to my face and away so quickly that I wasn't sure if I only imagined it.

"What kinds of things does she see?"

"She saw Jasper and knew that he was looking for her before he knew it himself. She saw Carlisle and our family, and they came together to find us. She's most sensitive to non-humans. She always sees, for example, when another group of our kind is coming near. And any threat they may pose."

"So there are a lot of...your kind?" I was surprised. How many of them could walk among us undetected?

"No, not many. And most won't settle in any one place. Only those like us, who've given up hunting you people," a sly glance in my direction, "can live together with humans for any length of time. We've only found one other family like ours, in a small village in Alaska. We lived together for a time, but there were so many of us that we became too noticeable. Those of us who live... differently, tend to band together."

"And the others?"

"Nomads, for the most part. We've all lived that way at times. It gets tedious, like anything else. But we run across the others now and then, because most of us prefer the North."

"’Cause clouds?"

We were parked in front of my house now, and he'd turned off the truck. It was very quiet and dark; there was no moon. The porch light was off, so I knew my father wasn't home yet.

"Yes. ’Cause clouds," he teased. "I couldn’t walk down the street in the sunlight without causing traffic accidents. There's a reason why we chose the Olympic Peninsula, one of the most sunless places in the world. It's nice to be able to go outside in the day. You wouldn't believe how tired you can get of nighttime in eighty-odd years."

"So that's where the legends came from?"

"Probably."

"And Alice came from another family, like Jasper?"

"No, and that is a mystery. Alice doesn't remember her human life at all. And she doesn't know who created her. She awoke alone. Whoever made her walked away, and none of us understand why, or how he could. If she hadn't had that other sense, if she hadn't seen Jasper and Carlisle and known that she would someday become one of us, she probably would have turned into a complete savage."

There was so much to think through, so much I still wanted to ask. But, to my great embarrassment, my stomach growled. I'd been so intrigued, I hadn't even noticed I was hungry. I realized now that I was ravenous.

"I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from dinner."

"It’s cool. I completely forgot about lunch, too. My stomach is threatening to mutiny."

"My apologies, Beau. I've never spent much time around anyone who eats food. I forget."

"I’ll live. I want to stay with you." It was easier to say in the darkness, knowing as I spoke how my voice would betray me, my hopeless addiction to him.

"Can't I come in?" he asked.

And I hadn’t thought about that. It seemed strange juxtaposing his perfection with my rumpled and ordinary home.

"You want to?" I still couldn't wrap my brain around it, this godlike creature sitting in my father's shabby kitchen chair. Even now that I’d witnessed Edward’s fragility, knew that he was messy in his own way, it was a hard thought to shake.

"Yes, if it's all right." I heard the door close quietly, and almost simultaneously he was resting against the hood in front of my door, waiting for my exit, arms crossed like he’d been waiting there patiently forever.

"Still showing off, I see," I observed playfully. He smiled a bit shyly, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes downward, and really looking seventeen for maybe the first time since I’d met him.

"I think you bring it out in me."

He walked beside me in the night, so silently that I had to keep checking to be sure he was still there. At least he looked much more normal in the growing darkness. Still pale, still dreamlike in his beauty, but no longer the fantastic sparkling creature of our sunlit afternoon. I was sure it made him feel more at ease with himself.

He reached the door ahead of me and opened it. I paused halfway through the frame.

"The door was unlocked?"

"No, I used the key from under the eave."

I stepped inside, flicked on the porch light, and turned to look at him with my eyebrows raised. I was sure I'd never used that key in front of him.

"I was curious about you."

"You stalked me?" But somehow I couldn't infuse my voice with the proper outrage. It actually struck me as kind of hilarious that  _ he _ of all people would be so obsessed with  _ me _ of all people to resort to stalking.

He was unrepentant. "What else is there to do at night?"

At that I burst out laughing, unable to stop myself.

“Oh my god you’re such a creeper.” I held my sides, barely able to squeeze the words out through the whole body laughter. “It’s adorable.”

I was doubled up at that point, picturing him clinging to my window, a frustrated look on his face, hair plastered to his forehead with rain, waiting for me to wake. Eventually I was able to quiet the laughter enough to make it down the hall to the kitchen. He was there before me, obviously needing no guide. He sat in the very chair I'd tried to picture him in, his style and poise making my kitchen look cool somehow by his mere presence in it. It was a moment before I could look away. The sight was so much stranger than it had been in my imaginings.

I concentrated on getting my dinner, taking last night's lasagna from the fridge, placing a square on a plate, heating it in the microwave. It revolved, filling the kitchen with the smell of tomatoes and oregano. I didn't take my eyes from the plate of food as I spoke.

"How often?" I asked casually.

"Hmmm?" He sounded as if I had pulled him from some other train of thought.

I still didn't turn around. "How often do you stalk me?"

"I come here almost every night."

And it made me smile, my face safely hidden. I asked anyway, of course.

"Why?" I was a sucker for reassurance, wasn’t I?

"You're interesting when you sleep." He spoke matter-of-factly. "You talk."

"Do I?" And I was more interested than embarrassed, really. I felt that I should feel embarrassed, of course, but there was only interest, and a bit of amusement. In all the years of living with my mother, she had never mentioned the fact, even to tease me with it. I must have though. Was it her little secret from me? Something that she cherished? I could imagine her standing in my doorway, a contented smile on her face, listening to my dreams. I found I liked the idea of them sharing this secret.

His expression shifted instantly to chagrin. "Are you very angry with me?"

And I had to torture him, you know? It was my calling in life.

"That depends..." I drew this out, an arch expression on my face.

He waited.

"On?" he urged.

"What you heard," I clipped.

Instantly, silently, he was at my side, taking my hands carefully in his.

"Don't be upset!" he pleaded, holding my gaze. I felt an inkling of guilt, but not enough to make me look away.

"You miss your mother," he whispered. "You worry about her. And when it rains, the sound makes you restless. You used to talk about home a lot, but it's less often now. Once you said, 'It's too green.'" He laughed softly, hoping, I could see, not to offend me further. I forgot to pretend to be angry.

"What else?" I wondered, interested in the workings of my own mind. I barely ever remembered my dreams beyond a vague recollection of plot. But I knew I’d dreamt of him.

He got what I was getting at. "You did say my name," he admitted.

And I had. I couldn’t stop thinking about the kinds of dreams in which he had most often starred, and the messes that I woke up to because of them. The thought of him watching these moments gave them a new dimension, and I felt a bolt of familiar lust run straight through me. I moved closer without meaning to, feeling suddenly predatory. I liked the thought of his eyes on me when I dreamt of him. Both with me in my dreams and watching as I dreamt them, as I was reduced to gasping his name by them, oblivious. "And did you like the way I said it?"

He stiffened when I brought my hand up to run along his chest idly. His breath came in short, overly controlled puffs.

"I did. You know I did. Why do you think I couldn’t help but come back to you, night after night?"

"In my dreams I get to touch you. And you touch me." I ached at the memory, but found myself hanging my head, the moment unraveling, the charge abating a bit. My confession had made me sad. My reality couldn’t mirror my dreams.

He pulled me against his chest, suddenly, harshly, naturally.

"How it tortures me not to touch you," he whispered in my ear. "If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I would never stop touching you. But I can’t..."

Then we both heard the sound of tires on the brick driveway, saw the headlights flash through the front windows, down the hall to us. I stiffened in his arms.

"Should your father know I'm here?" he asked.

"I'm not sure..." I tried to think it through quickly.

"Another time then..."

And I was alone.

"Edward!" I hissed.

I heard one ghostly chuckle, then nothing else.

My father's key turned in the door.

"Beau?" he called. It had bothered me before; who else could it be? Suddenly he didn't seem so far off base.

"In here." I hoped he couldn't hear the hysterical edge to my voice. I grabbed my cooled again dinner from the microwave and sat at the table as he walked in. His footsteps sounded so noisy after my day with Edward.

"Can you get me some of that? I'm bushed." He stepped on the heels of his boots to take them off, holding the back of Edward's chair for support. Because it had become Edwards chair, claimed by his brief contact with it.

I took my food with me, scarfing it down as I got his dinner. It wasn’t warm enough, but I was too hungry to heat it all over again. I filled two glasses with milk while his lasagna was heating, and gulped mine, suddenly ravenous. As I set the glass down, I noticed the milk trembling and realized my hand was shaking. Charlie sat in Edward’s chair, and the contrast between him and its former occupant was stark. My tired, mortal dad. His wrinkled forehead. His grimace as he stretched his shoulder—some old stiffness giving him trouble. My dad seemed so impermanent in that moment that I had to look away.

"Thanks," he said as I placed his food on the table. I heated up another helping for myself and joined him at the table, wanting to devour it standing, but feeling obligated to obey social rules.

"How was your day?" I asked. The words were rushed; I was dying to escape to my room.

"Good. The fish were biting... how about you? Did you get everything done that you wanted to?"

"Not really—it was too nice out to stay indoors." I took another big bite.

"It was a nice day," he agreed. 

Understatement.

Finished with the last bite of lasagna, I lifted my glass and chugged the remains of my milk.

Charlie surprised me by being observant. "In a hurry?"

"Yeah, I'm exhausted. I was going to go crash."

"You look kinda keyed up," he noted, confused. Why, oh why, did this have to be his night to pay attention?

"I’m an odd duck, Dad. You’re just now noticing?" I responded, rather aptly. I quickly scrubbed my dishes clean in the sink and placed them upside down on a dish towel to dry.

"It's Saturday," he mused.

I didn't respond.

"No plans tonight?" he asked suddenly.

"Plans are done. No more plans. I just want sleep."

"None of the boys in town your type, eh?" And I was suddenly wide awake. I gaped. I realized I was gaping and went to sit down, almost missing the chair. I had a feeling that sitting down was a good plan for my near future. Finally I was able to gather myself enough to speak. Charlie was watching me, unreadable.

“How did? How long? ...Is that okay?” I suddenly needed it to be okay. I hadn’t needed this man for anything for the best part of my life, but now that I had him, I wanted to keep him. Please say yes. Please say yes.

“Is it okay? Of all the... If you think that anything in this world could ever make me... you... any less…. Christ, kid, of course it’s okay.”

“Was it Mom?” And could I really be angry with her? She couldn’t keep secrets. She would have tried her hardest, but it was an impossibility for her. It was one of the things I loved about her.

“She let it slip, after a fashion. Now don’t you be angry with her, you know how she is better than I do.” I waved his worry on that score away. Why hadn’t I wanted to tell him, again? I barely knew him when I realized. After that, I was too caught up in Edward to give it much thought. Learning of the existence of vampires was a good enough excuse for forgetfulness. I smiled, slowly, it growing bigger as my wariness faded. But more could wait till later. Suddenly I was as drained as I had only pretended to be earlier, though under it was an edge that promised I wouldn’t find sleep anytime soon.

“I wondered too. What with your reaction to the dance and all.”

"Girl’s choice." I was at a loss how to proceed, growing ever more awkward by the moment. I really wasn’t ready for this. Not now. But he saw this.

"Thanks for the supper, Kid. Why don’t you go on up and get some sleep, if you’re still tired." And even after all that, he still looked suspicious. Still thought I might sneak out, I supposed. To meet some boy.

"You’re welcome, Dad. And thanks, you know, for..." Everything.

"Don’t need to thank me for doing my job, kid. Don’t ever need to thank me for that." And he’d finished with that, turning back to his lasagna quietly. Case closed.

"Love you too, Dad," I replied softly, before turning and heading up the stairs.

It was silent behind me, aside from a quiet shaky breath that I pretended for his pride not to hear. I left him to his emotions, knowing he’d never want me to be bothered by them, and was in my room, just staring, hand still on the doorknob when I remembered Edward. I walked slowly to the window, throwing it open, and leaned out into the night. My eyes scanned the darkness, the impenetrable shadows of the trees.

"Edward?" I whispered, suddenly needing him. I kept hearing the catch in my Dad’s breathing. I knew I had put it there when I’d told him I loved him. And I knew it was only there because he hadn’t been sure that it was the case.

“Edward!” A bit panicked then.

The quiet response came from behind me. "Here."

I whirled and swallowed.

"Make me stop thinking?" I breathed, unable suddenly to pull air back into my lungs and sinking unsteadily to the floor, sliding down under the still-open window. My hand ran through my hair and grasped, trying to ground myself with touch, with the slight sting of that pull. Was I that horrible, that my own father hadn’t thought I’d loved him? Was I that monstrous?

"I'm here, I’m here, Beau, I’m here." He petted at my hair, pulling my forehead against his. “How can I help? I can’t see— I don’t know how to help.” He sounded lost and afraid.

"Make me stop. Please..."

Stop. Just stop. Stop what? I didn’t know.

And he kissed me, deep and hard and savage, though even then I could feel the control behind his every move. Still kissing me, he leaned forward and held me, then rose, picking me up as he did so, gripping me to him like he was afraid I’d melt off into nothingness if he dared let go. And maybe I would. I had stopped thinking. He’d done a marvelous job.

He sat on the bed, me straddling his lap. Then he gently ended the kiss, the one kiss, soon giving me another, then another, speckling my entire face with quick sweet kisses, like rain. Then he maneuvered my head to rest against his shoulder, every once in a while kissing my head sweetly, as if to reassure himself that I was still there to kiss.

"Did I help?” he asked, a breath. "Your heart is still racing so quickly."

And all I could do was thank him over and over until I’d quieted. I had no control over my actions, my words, just waiting for things to die out as they would.

I felt him smile into my hair and that smile felt warm.

We sat there for a moment in silence, both listening to my heartbeat slow. My mind slowed, my thoughts and actions my own again. I was able to push the guilt back, over my dad, owning it, but no longer letting it crush me.

He knew I loved him now. That would have to be enough. 

"I need to shower,” I realized. “Will you still be here when I...?" I asked.

"Absolutely." He gestured with one hand that I should proceed.

"You’ll stay," I verified, trying to look less pathetic than I felt.

"I swear it." And he relaxed into my bed. “I won’t move from this spot.”

I hopped up, grabbing my pajama pants from off the floor, my bag of toiletries off the desk. I left the light off and slipped out, closing the door.

I could hear the sound from the TV rising up the stairs. I banged the bathroom door loudly, to let my dad know that it was occupied. I thought as little of him as possible. And then felt guilty again.

I meant to hurry. I brushed my teeth fiercely, trying to be thorough and speedy all at once. But the hot water of the shower couldn't be rushed. Not today. Not after the hectic fifteen minutes I’d just had. It unknotted the muscles in my back, finally calming my pulse. The familiar smell of my shampoo made me feel like I might be the same person I had been this morning. Every time I felt the panic return, the hatred of myself, I pictured Edward waiting on my bed, his face telling me that he would wait there for centuries if need be. The image made it easier to breathe. Finally, I couldn't delay anymore. I shut off the water, toweling hastily, rushing again through all the after shower necessities. I pulled on my gray sweatpants, squared my shoulders against the inevitable questions and explanations, and padded softly back to my room.

I rubbed the towel through my hair again on the way, tossing it towards the hall hamper and missing badly. I left it where it fell.

Edward hadn't moved a fraction of an inch, a carving of Adonis laid atop my faded bedspread. I crawled back onto the bed, though not back onto his lap. I couldn’t help but lay my head against his chest, though. I realized that I was shirtless. His hand darted to my back and traced it idly.

I looked up into eyes that appraised me, taking in the planes of my chest, all the bare skin that was on view to him. I forgot about questions. The answers could wait. He could study me forever.

"Perfect," he breathed. I snuggled closer, an excuse to turn my head, not able to meet his eyes any longer. But he wouldn’t allow that, tipping my chin up so that my eyes couldn’t help but meet his. I knew it was useless to resist. "You are so perfect."

But he was wrong, wasn’t he. Because I was—I...

"I’m a monster," I confessed in a sorrowful whisper. His hand slid from my chin. His eyes danced confusedly over me, trying to puzzle me out.

"What makes you believe that?" I could see the panic that had been on his face before, at the sight of my episode, begin to reemerge. I had to forestall it.

And it poured out of me. Things I couldn’t believe I had told once they were out of my mouth. Things that would surely convince him. Things that I should have never let anyone hear. It all bubbled out, hissing through my teeth like peroxide bubbling out of an infected wound. He would hate me when I was done. He would see the truth of me. He couldn’t help but hate me.

He was silent for a long while after the words had finally stopped oozing from me, weighing my words solemnly, not dismissing me as any other human would. But that would change any moment. I memorized his face as well as I could before his inevitable departure.

"You’re not a monster, Beau." He shook his head once and with grim finality. His voice was a bit thicker than normal, and he held me a bit tighter. His shirt was wet against my cheek. Had I cried? I shook my head, his words wrong. I told him so.

“You’re so innocent. It’s so hard to remember... You can’t even conceive of the things that you would have to do to make you seem monstrous in my eyes.”

And at that, he drew my lips to his once more, and this time his kiss was as slow and sweet as a honey flow, and I began to believe. His actions, more than his words, convinced me.

"You’re so warm," he sighed, retreating only inches. “You dismiss my monstrosity so easily, and insist on yours, which is trivial in comparison. What am I to do with you?”

He bent his face slowly back to mine, laying his cool cheek against my skin. I was still, empty aside from his words, his touch.

"Whatever you want,” I whispered. “Anything. Just something," I breathed, not caring what happened at that point. He could kill me and I wouldn’t protest. I needed something to happen.

“Mmmmm.” It was ragged, stuttered, near a moan, and his breath came cold on my neck with it, causing goosebumps to rise on the skin there.

When he didn’t kill me, or do anything else, my overtaxed brain nagged me with a question. It was very difficult, while he was touching me, to frame it coherently. It took me a minute of scattered concentration to begin. I didn’t really want to. It was just something that happened.

"It seems to be... much easier for you, now, to be close to me."

"Does it seem that way to you?" he murmured, his nose gliding to the corner of my jaw. I felt his hand, lighter than a moth's wing, brushing my damp hair back, so that his lips could touch the hollow beneath my ear.

"Yes," I panted, thrumming, so painfully hard that I lost what we’d been talking about.

"Hmm."

"So..." I continued, finding my place again, but his fingers were slowly tracing my collarbone, and I lost it just as quickly, shuddering, and doing my best to ignore my need, to stop myself from just rutting mindlessly into him.

"Yes?" he breathed.

"Why is that," my voice shook, wrecked, "do you think?"

I felt the tremor of his breath on my neck. "Mind over matter."

I pulled back, giving in to my desire to climb into his lap, the ache for him too great; but as I moved, he froze—and I could no longer hear the sound of his breathing.

I pulled away further after a long pause, the tension all but crushing me. We stared cautiously at each other for a moment, and then, as his clenched jaw gradually relaxed, his expression became puzzled.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No.” I shook my head, barely comprehending. And I was still so achingly hard. Couldn’t he sense that? “I need— I want—" I tried to explain. “Please. I need you to touch me. I need it.”

He hesitated, swallowing thickly. His eyes flew to my obvious erection and grew hot, his mouth falling open the slightest bit. I heard it when he finally sucked in a sharp breath of air. My eyes were drawn away from his face, wanting to see that I had effected him too. And I had, I could see that I had. I laughed, exhilarated, and went to climb into his lap. He stopped me, and something like a whine, to my shame, escaped my throat. I tried to guide his hand to my pants and felt it’s tremble. His face had the look of a tortured man and he clenched his eyes shut, against what, I didn’t know.

I felt the guilt, felt my monstrosity, bring fresh tears to my eyes.

“I can’t, Beau. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from—”

“I know,” I interrupted, my voice breaking. “I’m sorry.” My need had vanished under my guilt, my body slowly catching up with my brain.

He cradled me to him then, wiping at my eyes. “Don’t be. I had little idea that I could have such an effect on someone. None, of the effect that you’d have upon me.”

“Calling it an effect is putting it rather mildly, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, I was that good, was I?” He preened, amusement a welcome tone in his voice.

“Now you’re just being cocky. Pun definitely intended.” I laughed, relaxing into him, suddenly calm.

"I'm just pleasantly surprised," he clarified. "In the last hundred years or so," his voice was teasing, "I never imagined anything like this. I didn't believe I would ever find someone I wanted to be with...in another way than my brothers and sisters. And then to find, even though it's all new to me, that I'm good at it...at being with you..."

"You're good at everything," I pointed out.

He shrugged, allowing that, and we both laughed in whispers.

"But how can it be so easy now?" I pressed. "This afternoon..."

"It's not easy," he sighed. "But this afternoon, I was still... undecided. I am sorry about that, it was unforgivable for me to behave so."

"Apparently not unforgivable, since I forgive you," I disagreed.

"Thank you." He smiled. "You see," he continued, looking down now, "I wasn't sure if I was strong enough..." He picked up one of my hands and pressed it lightly to his face. "And while there was still that possibility that I might be... overcome," he breathed in the scent at my wrist, "I was...susceptible. Until I made up my mind that I was strong enough, that there was no possibility at all that I would...that I ever could..."

I'd never seen him struggle so hard for words. It was so...human.

"So there's no possibility now?"

"Mind over matter," he repeated, smiling, his teeth bright even in the darkness.

"Wow. You’re kind of awesome," I said.

He threw back his head and laughed, quietly as a whisper, but still exuberantly.

"I’m flattered you think so," he added, touching my nose with his fingertip.

And then his face was abruptly serious.

"I'm trying," he whispered, his voice pained. "If it gets to be...too much, I'm fairly sure I'll be able to leave."

I frowned. I didn't like the talk of leaving.

"And it will be harder tomorrow," he continued. "I've had the scent of you in my head all day, and I've grown amazingly desensitized. If I'm away from you for any length of time, I'll have to start over again. Not quite from scratch, though, I think."

"Don't go away, then," I responded, the choice obvious to me.

"That suits me," he replied, his face relaxing into a gentle smile. "Bring on the shackles—I'm your prisoner." But his long hands formed manacles around my wrists as he spoke. He laughed his quiet, musical laugh. He'd laughed more tonight than I'd ever heard in all the time I'd spent with him.

"You seem more...optimistic than usual," I observed. "I haven't seen you like this before."

"Isn't it supposed to be like this?" He smiled. "The glory of first love, and all that. It's incredible, isn't it, the difference between reading about something, seeing it in the pictures, and experiencing it?"

"Very different," I agreed. "It’s a marauding beast when I was looking out for a contented kitten."

"Good example." His words flowed swiftly now, I had to concentrate to catch it all "The thing that I find hardest to get used to is the jealousy. I've read about it a hundred thousand times, seen actors portray it in a thousand different plays and movies. I believed I understood that one pretty clearly. But it shocked me..." He grimaced. "Do you remember the day that Mike asked you to the dance?"

I nodded, though I remembered that day for a different reason. "The day you started talking to me again."

"I was surprised by the flare of resentment, almost fury, that I felt—I didn't recognize what it was at first. I was even more aggravated than usual that I couldn't know what you were thinking, why you refused her. Was it simply for your friend's sake? Was there someone else? Could that someone be me? I knew I had no right to care either way. I tried not to care.

"And then the line started forming," he chuckled. I scowled in the darkness.

"I waited, unreasonably anxious to hear what you would say to them, to watch your expressions. I couldn't deny the relief I felt, watching the annoyance on your face. But I couldn't be sure.

"That was the first night I came here. I wrestled all night, while watching you sleep, with the chasm between what I knew was right, moral, ethical, and what I wanted. I knew that if I continued to ignore you as I should, or if I left for a few years, till you were gone, that someday you would say yes to Mike, or someone like her. It made me angry.

"And then," he whispered, "as you were sleeping, you said my name. You spoke so clearly, at first I thought you'd woken. But you rolled over restlessly and mumbled my name once more, and sighed. The feeling that coursed through me then was unnerving, staggering. And I knew I couldn't ignore you any longer." He was silent for a moment, probably listening to the suddenly uneven pounding of my heart.

"But jealousy... it's a strange thing. So much more powerful than I would have thought. And irrational! Just now, when Charlie asked you about other boys, before I could even catch on to the real topic..." He shook his head angrily. “It clouds my mind more than anything ever has.”

"I knew you were listening," I said softly.

"Of course."

"Something so simple made you jealous? Really?"

"I'm new at this; you're resurrecting the human in me, and everything feels stronger because it's so fresh."

"That was a funny conversation, really, now that I think of it. My mind is funny. Ever since, well, you, I’ve been trying to deal with the fact that I’m gay, but I just realized," I laughed, "I’m only gay for you.” I laughed more forcefully, having to bury my face in a pillow for a minute till I’d gotten myself back under some kind of control. “What I mean is that I’ve been around plenty of good looking guys, plenty of girls too, and I’ve never even thought twice about any of them. So I’m kind of not gay? And I just came out to my Dad.” The laughter threatened again.

“I get jealous too, you know,” I continued. “Hearing about you and Rosalie...”

"There's no competition." His teeth gleamed. He drew my trapped hands around his back, holding me to his chest. I kept as still as I could, even breathing with caution. “I’m ‘gay’ for you, as well, apparently. I’ve only ever had feelings like this for you.”

The laughter couldn’t be stopped then, a combination of my giddiness at hearing Edward say something so terrific, and hilarity at Edward saying something so patently odd. I buried my laughter in his chest this time. Eventually I was able to stop.

"You, worried about Rosalie.” He shook his head slowly. “Of course Rosalie is beautiful in her way, but even if she wasn't like a sister to me, even if Emmett didn't belong with her, she could never have one tenth, no, one hundredth of the attraction you hold for me." He was serious now, thoughtful. "For almost ninety years I've walked among my kind, and yours... all the time thinking I was complete in myself, not realizing what I was seeking. And not finding anything, because you weren't alive yet."

"That seems blatantly unfair," I whispered, my face still resting on his chest, listening to his breath come and go. "I haven't had to wait at all. Why should I get off so easily?"

"You're right," he agreed with amusement. "I should make this harder for you, definitely." He freed one of his hands, released my wrist, only to gather it carefully into his other hand. He stroked my still damp hair softly, from the top of my head to the nape of my neck, curling his fingers there. "You only have to risk your life every second you spend with me, that's surely not much. You only have to turn your back on nature, on humanity...what's that worth?"

"Humanity has never seemed all that appealing to me. It’s not like I’m deprived."

"Not yet." And his voice was abruptly full of ancient grief.

I tried to pull back, to look in his face, but his hand locked my wrists in an unbreakable hold.

"What—" I started to ask, when his body became alert. I froze, but he suddenly released my hands, and disappeared. I narrowly avoided falling on my face.

"Lie down!" he hissed. I couldn't tell where he spoke from in the darkness.

I rolled under my blanket, sprawled on my side, the way I usually slept. I heard the door crack open, as Charlie peeked in. He watched me for a long while. I breathed evenly, with difficulty, the movement overly exaggerated.

A long minute passed. I listened, not sure if I'd heard the door close. Then Edward's cool arm was around me, under the covers, his lips at my ear.

"You are a terrible actor—I'd say that career path is definitively out for you."

"Oh, woe is me," I purposefully overacted, hand draped palm outward over my forehead like some silent movie actress about to swoon. Then I smiled, thinking of Charlie checking up on me.

“My Dad loves me. Why is that such a revelation?”

“Perhaps it was simply the right time for such a revelation.” And he traced cool paths on my back with his hand, humming a melody I didn't recognize; it sounded like a lullaby.

He paused. "Should I sing you to sleep?"

"Right," I laughed. "Because you being here puts me right to sleep."

"You’ve never had a problem before," he reminded me.

"Because I didn't know you were here," I replied slowly.

"So if you don't want to sleep..." he suggested, ignoring sarcasm. My breath caught.

"If I don't want to sleep...?"

He chuckled, then his voice grew low and turned rough. "If you refuse to sleep, how am I to wring my name from you?"

I couldn't answer at first, growing embarrassingly hard again.

"I’m pretty sure that you’re evil," I finally said.

"I realize." And his eyes seemed to flash. “I wonder...”

I could feel his cool breath on my neck, feel his nose sliding along my jaw, inhaling. I felt his hand sliding up my arm to my shoulder, then down my chest, down, nails scraping lightly over my stomach as he explored its planes.

“Mmm,” I breathed, shaking, “Edward, Please....”

And then he stopped. He leaned back, smiling.

"What the hell!" I hissed.

"You do smell better when you’re excited.” He laughed quietly. “Just because I'm resisting the wine doesn't mean I can't appreciate the bouquet," he whispered. "You smell so different than what I’m used to," he noted. "Warm and smoky and spicy—very exotic. And when I touch you, it’s like lighting a brazier stacked with incense,—there’s fire underneath it all. You’re mouthwatering."

I sighed, scrubbing my hands over my face. "Yeah, it's an off day when I don't get somebody telling me how edible I smell."

He chuckled, and then sighed as well.

“I’m sorry for torturing you.”

"Lies,” I protested, noting the small smile this brought. “Anyway, I've decided what I want to do, instead of sleeping," I told him. "Since option one is off the menu. I want to hear more about you."

"I’m in your debt. Ask me anything."

I sifted through my questions for the most vital. "Why do you do it?" I said. "I still don't understand how you can work so hard to resist what you...are. Please don't misunderstand, of course I'm glad that you do. I just don't see why you would bother in the first place."

He hesitated before answering. "That's a good question, and you are not the first one to ask it. The others—the majority of our kind who are quite content with our lot—they, too, wonder at how we live. But you see, just because we've been...dealt a certain hand...it doesn't mean that we can't choose to rise above—to conquer the boundaries of a destiny that none of us wanted. To try to retain whatever essential humanity we can."

I lay unmoving, locked in awed silence.

"Did you fall asleep?" he whispered after a minute.

"No. So you’re a rebel, then."

"I suppose it’s an apt enough description.” I could hear the amusement in his voice. “Is that all you were curious about?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes. Yes, Edward. I’m in the company of a century old vampire and that was the only question that came to mind."

"I respect your adept use of sarcasm. What else do you want to know?"

"Why can you read minds—why only you, I mean? And Alice, seeing the future...why does that happen? I mean, does anyone know?"

I felt him shrug in the darkness. "No one that I’ve ever met. Carlisle has a theory...he believes that we all bring something of our strongest human traits with us into the next life, where they are intensified—like our minds, and our senses. He thinks that I must have already been very sensitive to the thoughts of those around me. And that Alice had some precognition, wherever she was."

"What did he bring into the next life, and the others?"

"Carlisle brought his compassion. Esme brought her ability to love passionately. Emmett brought his strength, Rosalie her... tenacity. Or you could call it pigheadedness." he chuckled. "Jasper is probably the most interesting. He was quite charismatic in his first life, able to influence those around him to see things his way. Now he is able to manipulate the emotions of those around him—calm down a room of angry people, for example, or excite a lethargic crowd, conversely. It's a very subtle gift. And of course, he is very attuned to the emotions of others—though that can be a bit of a curse."

I thought, pictured, considered. He waited patiently.

"So where did it all start? I mean, Carlisle changed you, and someone must have changed him, and so on..."

"That’s not very fair. Where did you come from? Evolution? Creation? Couldn't we have evolved in the same way as other species, predator and prey? Or, if you don't believe that all this world could have just happened on its own, which is hard for me to accept myself, is it so hard to believe that the same force that created the delicate angelfish with the shark, the baby seal and the killer whale, could create both our kinds together?"

"No, I’d believe it. Wait, did you just call me a baby seal?"

"I promise not to club you to death for your pelt." He laughed, and something touched my hair—his lips? Whatever it was, it was nice; calming.

I was too comfortable to turn and find out.

"Are you ready to sleep?" he asked, interrupting the short silence. "Or do you have any more questions?"

"Only one or two million."

"We have tomorrow, and the next day, and the next..." he reminded me. I smiled, liking the way he put it.

"If this were a fairy tale, you would vanish as soon as my eyes close..." I wanted to maneuver him into reassuring me of his continued existence somehow. "You are mythical, after all."

"I won't leave you." His voice had the seal of a promise in it. I let out the breath I’d been holding; content.

"One more, then, tonight..." And I could feel a flush creeping up under my skin, growing hotter upon my realization that the darkness was no help—I'm sure he could feel the sudden warmth under my skin.

"What is it?"

"Nope, forget it. I changed my mind."

"Beau, you can ask me anything."

I didn't answer, and he groaned.

"I keep thinking it will get less frustrating, not hearing your thoughts. But it just gets worse and worse."

"I'm so glad you can’t get inside my head."

"Please tell me?" His voice was so persuasive, so impossible to resist.

I did anyway.

"If you don't tell me, I'll just assume it's something much worse than it is," he threatened darkly. "Please?" Again, that pleading voice. My will crumbled.

"Okay," I began, glad that he couldn't see my face.

"Yes?"

"You said that it isn’t any easier, being near me?"

He watched me intently, keen to understand. "I did."

I fidgeted, not knowing how to continue without being blunt. “So even if you pushed yourself, built up a tolerance to me...”

"You can ask," he said. "I told you, I’ll answer anything."

"I know," was all I could say. I was getting the feeling that I wouldn’t like his answer.

"Torturous..."

"I know. I mean that’s what I mean—I mean, what I’m trying to ask is will we ever be able to be fully... _ be _ together?"

I could read the answer in the sudden stillness of his body. I froze, too, reacting automatically.

"I don't think that...that...would be possible for us."

"It would be too hard for you, to be that...close?"

"That's certainly a problem. But that's not the only one. That’s not what I was thinking of. It's just, you are so delicate, so fragile. I know these aren’t the most heartening descriptions to you, but from my perspective— I have to mind my actions every moment that we're together so that I don't hurt you. I could kill you quite easily, Beau, simply by accident." His voice had become just a soft murmur. He moved his icy palm to rest it against my cheek. "If I became too...if for one second I wasn't paying enough attention, I could reach out, meaning to touch your face, and crush your skull by mistake. You don't realize how terrifyingly breakable you are. I can never, never afford to lose any kind of control when I'm with you."

He waited for me to respond, growing anxious when I didn't. "Are you finally afraid?" he asked, sounding a bit afraid himself.

I waited a beat to answer, waiting for the sting, the feeling of weakness to pass. "No such luck. Just feeling very small."

He seemed to deliberate for a moment. "I'm curious now, though," he said, his voice light again. "Have you ever...?" He trailed off suggestively.

"No." I didn’t even feel embarrassed admitting it. "I was a freak, I told you. I never even wanted to. I was beginning to think I was broken."

"Never even purely out of lust? Love and lust don't always keep the same company."

"Apparently they do for me. Now that they exist for me at all," I sighed.

"We have that one thing in common, at least." He sounded satisfied.

"I still can’t believe that you’ve never..." I began. He waited. "Well, with me, you’re so..."

He laughed and lightly rumpled my nearly dry hair but grew thoughtful.

"To be completely honest, I have. Once. And it wasn’t out of lust, that was only tangentially involved. I suppose it was out of love, of a sort. Not the same at all as what I feel for you, not romantic love. It was a way of bringing someone that I cared about deeply back from… well, I hesitated to tell you, because it isn’t really my tale to tell—though I doubt Jasper would mind...” And he went infuriatingly quiet for a while, lost in thoughts, possibly about the sex that him and Jasper had once. And now I was picturing that. I was less jealous and more interested than I should have been. It was confusing. “Really, I’m clueless, though," he assured me, snapping me out of my own thoughts. “A babe in the woods.” And he walked his fingers up my bare arm. “I feel my way as I go.”

And then my body betrayed me in a new and even more nefarious way, yawning involuntarily.

"That’s where I draw the line. Sleep," he insisted.

"You know that commanding tone only makes me want to force myself to stay awake out of spite, don’t you?"

"I could leave," he suggested archly.

"No!" I said too loudly. I clung, for all the good it would do me were he really to try.

He laughed, and then began to hum that same, unfamiliar lullaby; the voice of an angel, soft in my ear.

And more tired than I would admit, exhausted from a day full of mental and emotional stress like I'd never felt before, I drifted to sleep in his cool arms.


	16. The Cullens

The muted light of another cloudy day eventually woke me. I lay with my arm across my eyes, groggy and dazed. Something, a dream trying to be remembered, struggled to break into my consciousness. I moaned and rolled on my side, hoping to find it again. And with the movement, the previous day flooded back into my awareness.

"Wha!" I sat up so fast it made my head spin.

"Your hair looks like modern art... I like it." His unruffled voice came from the rocking chair in the corner.

"You  _ are _ here!" I rejoiced, and before any real thinking was able to take place, I had thrown myself across the room and into his lap. In the instant that my thoughts caught up with my actions, I froze, shocked by my own uncontrolled enthusiasm. I looked to him, wondering too idly if I had just crossed some line, startled him into a loss of control. I was kind of an asshole to my continued existence.

But he laughed.

"Of course," he answered, startled, but seeming pleased by my reaction. His hands rubbed my back.

I laid my head cautiously against his shoulder, breathing in the smell of his skin.

"When I woke up, I was sure I’d dreamt you."

"You're creative enough," he conceded.

"Well that’s tr— Dad!" I remembered, thoughtlessly jumping up again and heading to the door.

"He left an hour ago—after reattaching your battery cables, I might add. I have to admit I was disappointed. Is that really all it would take to stop you, if you were determined to go?"

I puzzled that over, having completely forgotten my dad’s suspicion of me with everything else, and also deliberating on the spot, wanting to return to him badly, but pretty sure that I had morning breath.

"You're not usually this confused in the morning," he noted. He held his arms open for me to return. A nearly irresistible invitation.

"Pause that. Human things need to happen," I admitted.

"I am very good at waiting."

Which was true. He was here. I stormed the bathroom, my emotions unrecognizable. I didn't know myself, inside or out. The face in the mirror was practically a stranger—eyes too bright, hectic spots of red across my cheekbones. After brushing my teeth, I worked to straighten out the rumpled chaos that was my hair, then shaved more carefully than I ever had before, splashing my face with cold water and trying to breathe normally, with no noticeable success. I half-ran back to my room.

It seemed like a miracle again when he was still there, right where I’d left him, his arms opening again to me. As I approached, he reached out to me, and my heart thumped unsteadily.

"Welcome back," he murmured, pulling me into his arms.

We rocked for a while in silence, limbs askew and awkward and between the two of us too bulky for the frail chair, and totally not caring, at least on my part, when I happened to notice that his clothes were changed, his hair smooth.

"You left?" I accused, touching the collar of his fresh shirt.

"I could hardly leave in the clothes I came in—what would the neighbors think?"

I pouted. Honest to god. Like a child. “The neighbors can’t see. The neighbors are trees and shrubs.”

"You were very deeply asleep; I didn't miss anything." His eyes gleamed. "The talking was already over."

And I’m sure that he could see the curiosity light my eyes. "What did you hear?"

His gold eyes grew very soft. "Among other things, you said you loved me."

"But you knew that," I reminded him, confused at his expression. “Didn’t you?” I couldn’t judge anymore what I was presenting to people. My own father hadn’t been sure that I loved him.

He nodded, smiling serenely. "It was nice to hear, just the same."

I hid my face against his shoulder, finding the words that I wanted to say hard to muster when I could see.

"I love you," I whispered.

"And I, you. You are my life now," he answered simply.

There was nothing more to say for the moment. He rocked us back and forth, surely an amusing picture, as the room grew lighter.

"Breakfast time," he said eventually, casually—to prove, I'm sure, that he remembered all my human frailties.

So I clutched my throat with both hands and stared at him with wide eyes. Shock crossed his face.

"Oh my god your face!" I snickered. "And you said I couldn't act!"

He frowned in disgust. "That wasn't funny."

"It was  _ so _ funny; admit it." But I examined his gold eyes carefully, though lightheartedly, to make sure that I was forgiven. Apparently, I was.

"Shall I rephrase?" he asked. "Breakfast time for the human."

"Oh, fine."

He threw me over his stone shoulder, gently, but with a swiftness that left me breathless. I protested as he carried me easily down the stairs, but he ignored me. He sat me right side up on a chair.

“Okay, that—never again with that. It’s demeaning.”

The kitchen was bright, happy, seeming to mock my bruised manliness. He looked unrepentant.

"Fine, what's for breakfast?" I asked him grumpily.

That threw him.

"Er, I'm not sure. What would you like?" His marble brow grew agitated.

I grinned, hopping up.

"Ha! I’m kidding. It’s all good. I fend for myself pretty well—watch me hunt."

I found a bowl and a box of cereal. I could feel his eyes on me as I poured the milk and grabbed a spoon. I sat my food on the table, and then paused.

"You may want to avert your eyes. This can be gruesome," I warned.

He rolled his eyes. "Just eat, Beau."

I sat at the table, watching him as I took a bite. He was gazing at me, studying my every movement. It made me self-conscious. I cleared my mouth to speak, to distract him.

"What's on the agenda for today?"

"Hmmm..." I watched him frame his answer carefully. "What would you say to meeting my family?"

I gulped.

"Now you’re afraid." He sounded like he’d just heard the other shoe drop, the one he’d been waiting for.

"—ish..." I admitted. How could I deny it? He could see my eyes.

"Don't worry." He smirked. "I'll protect you."

"Shut up," I said, exasperated. "Do you think that they’ll...like me? Aren’t they mad about me? Do they know that I know about them?"

"Oh, they already know everything. They'd taken bets yesterday, you know," he smiled, but his voice was harsh, "on whether I'd bring you back, though why anyone would bet against Alice, I can't imagine. At any rate, we don't have secrets in the family. It's not really feasible, what with my mind reading and Alice seeing the future and all."

"And Jasper making you feel all warm and fuzzy about spilling your guts, don't forget that."

"You paid attention," he smiled approvingly.

"I've been known to do that every now and then." I grimaced. "So Alice saw me coming?"

His reaction was strange. "Something like that," he said uncomfortably, turning away so I couldn't see his eyes. I stared at him curiously.

"Is that any good?" he asked, turning back to me abruptly and eyeing my breakfast with a teasing look on his face. "Honestly, it doesn't look very appetizing."

"Well, it's no irritable grizzly..." I murmured, somehow able to half-ignore him. I was still wondering why he responded that way when I mentioned Alice. I hurried through my cereal, speculating.

He stood in the middle of the kitchen, the statue of Adonis again, staring abstractedly out the back windows.

Then his eyes were back on me, and he smiled his heartbreaking smile.

"And you should introduce me to your father, too, I think."

"He already knows you," I reminded him.

"Officially. As your...boyfriend, I mean. Boyfriend seems such an odd way to put it."

I stared at him with suspicion. "Betrothed. Beloved. Why do you want to meet my father, officially?"

"Isn't that customary anymore?" he asked innocently.

"I don't know," I admitted. My dating history gave me no reference points to work with. Not that any normal rules of dating applied here. "That's not the point, though. I don't expect you to...I mean, you don't have to pretend to be human for me."

His smile was patient. "I'm not pretending. I’m enjoying something that I’ve never been a part of before. That’s so rare for me."

I pushed the remains of my cereal around the edges of the bowl, biting my lip.

"Indulge me?" he asked, though he may as well have demanded.

"Is that what you are, though? My boyfriend?" I suppressed my internal cringing at the thought of Edward and Charlie and the word boyfriend all in the same room at the same time.

"I’ve said I hate the term, and It's a loose interpretation of the word 'boy,' I'll admit."

"I was under the impression that you were something more, actually," I confessed, looking at the table.

"Well, I don't know if we need to give him all the gory details." He reached across the table to lift my chin with a cold, gentle finger. "But he will need some explanation for why I'm around here so much. I don't want Chief Swan getting a restraining order put on me."

"Will you?" I asked, suddenly anxious. "Be around?"

"As long as you want me," he assured me.

"So, forever then?” I smiled.

He walked slowly around the table, and, pausing a few feet away, he reached out to touch his fingertips to my cheek. His expression was unfathomable. And something about it, the wistful sadness in it— I realized suddenly that I wouldn’t be around forever. That I was in no position to talk about forever. My face must have changed. I could feel tears forming, though thankfully none were falling yet.

"I’m so…impermanent. God. To you, I must seem—" I paused, swallowing down the sudden grief, the guilt I felt at the realization. “I’m going to cause you so much pain," I whispered. “But I still can’t let go—I’ve warned you that I’m a monster.”

He didn't answer. He stared into my eyes for an immeasurable period of time.

"My monster,” he said, barely audible. “Are you finished?" he finally asked, louder.

"Yes." I couldn’t have eaten to save my life at that point.

"Get dressed—I'll wait here."

It was hard to decide what to wear. I doubted there were any etiquette books detailing how to dress when your vampire sweetheart takes you home to meet his vampire family. Not that etiquette books were a thing anymore.

I ended up in my only nice pants, a pair of khakis that were still very casual while being dressy enough to pass. I put on the dark blue sweater he'd once complimented. A quick glance in the mirror told me my hair was entirely impossible, so I stuck my head under the sink faucet, toweled it dry, and started from scratch. I didn’t own any gel.

"Okay," I said, making my way hastily down the stairs. "I'm decent."

He was waiting at the foot of the stairs, closer than I'd thought, and I hastened right into him. He steadied me, holding me a careful distance away for a few seconds before suddenly pulling me closer.

"Wrong," he murmured in my ear. "You are utterly indecent—no one should look so tempting, it's not fair."

"Tempting? Wait, tempting which way?" I asked. "’Cause I can change..."

He sighed, shaking his head. "You are so absurd." He pressed his cool lips delicately to my forehead, and the room spun. The scent of him, after its brief absence while I was upstairs, made it impossible to think.

"Shall I explain how you are tempting me?" he said. It was clearly a rhetorical question. His fingers traced slowly down my spine, his breath coming more quickly against my skin. My hands were limp on his chest, and I felt lightheaded again. He tilted his head slowly and touched his cool lips to mine once more, though I felt I’d never get used to it, very carefully, parting them slightly.

And then I collapsed.

"Beau?" His voice was alarmed as he caught me and held me up.

I came around at my name and tried to support my weight again. "You...made...me...faint," I accused him dizzily.

"What am I going to do with you?" he groaned in exasperation. "Yesterday, I kiss you and you attack me! Today you pass out on me!"

I laughed weakly, and a bit hysterically, letting his arms support me while my head spun.

"So much for being good at everything," he sighed.

"You made me faint," I reminded him, still dizzy. "You're too good. Far, far too good."

"Do you feel sick?" he asked; he'd seen me like this before.

"No—not the same kind of fainting at all. I don't know what happened." I shook my head trying to account for it. "I think I forgot to breathe."

"I can't take you anywhere like this."

"I'm fine now," I insisted. "Your family is going to think I'm insane anyway, at some point, what’s the use postponing the inevitable?"

He measured my expression for a moment. "I'm very partial to that color against your skin," he offered unexpectedly. I flushed with pleasure and looked away.

"Look, I'm trying really hard not to freak out or to think about what I'm about to do, so can we go already?" I asked.

"And you're worried, not because you're headed to meet a houseful of vampires, but because you think those vampires won't approve of you, correct?"

"Correctomundo," I answered immediately.

He shook his head. "You're incredible."

I realized, as he drove my truck out of the main part of town, that I had no idea where he lived. We passed over the bridge at the Calawah River, the road winding northward, the houses flashing past us growing farther apart, getting bigger. And then we were past the other houses altogether, driving through misty forest. I was trying to decide whether to ask or be patient, when he turned abruptly onto an unpaved road. It was unmarked, barely visible among the ferns. The forest encroached on both sides, leaving the road ahead only discernible for a few meters as it twisted, serpent-like, around the ancient trees.

And then, after a few miles, there was some thinning of the woods, and we were suddenly in a small meadow, or was it actually a lawn? The gloom of the forest didn't relent, though, for there were six primordial cedars that shaded an entire acre with their vast sweep of branches. The trees held their protecting shadow right up to the walls of the house that rose among them, making obsolete the deep porch that wrapped around the first story.

I don't know what I had expected, but it definitely wasn't this. The house was timeless, graceful, and probably a hundred years old. It was painted a soft, faded white, three stories tall, rectangular and well proportioned. The windows and doors were either part of the original structure or a perfect restoration. My truck was the only car in sight. I could hear the river close by, hidden in the obscurity of the forest.

"Wow."

"You like it?" He smiled.

"It... has a certain charm."

He mussed my hair and chuckled, gently straightening it afterward, at a look from me.

"Ready?" he asked, opening my door.

"No, not even a little bit—let's go." I tried to laugh, but it seemed to get stuck in my throat. I smoothed my hair again nervously.

"You look perfect." He took my hand easily, without thinking about it.

We walked through the deep shade up to the porch. I knew he could feel my tension; his thumb rubbed soothing circles into the back of my hand.

He opened the door for me.

The inside was even more surprising, less predictable, than the exterior. It was very bright, very open, and very large. This must have originally been several rooms, but the walls had been removed from most of the first floor to create one wide space. The back, south-facing wall had been entirely replaced with glass, and, beyond the shade of the cedars, the lawn stretched bare to the wide river. A massive curving staircase dominated the west side of the room. The walls, the high-beamed ceiling, the wooden floors, and the thick carpets were all varying shades of white.

Waiting to greet us, standing just to the left of the door, on a raised portion of the floor by a spectacular grand piano, were Edward's parents.

I'd seen Dr. Cullen before, of course, but seeing him again he looked so young, so outrageously perfect. At his side was Esme, I assumed, the only one of the family I'd never seen before. She had the same pale, beautiful features as the rest of them. Something about her heart-shaped face, her billows of soft, caramel-colored hair, reminded me of the ingénues of the silent-movie era. She was small, slender, yet less angular, more rounded than the others. They were both dressed casually, in light colors that matched the inside of the house. They smiled in welcome but made no move to approach us. Trying not to frighten me, I guessed.

"Carlisle, Esme," Edward's voice broke the short silence, "this is Beau."

"You're very welcome, Beau, of course." Carlisle's step was measured, careful as he approached me. He raised his hand tentatively, and I stepped forward to shake hands with him, smiling at his gentle reserve.

"It's nice to see you again, Dr. Cullen."

"Please, call me Carlisle."

"Carlisle." I grinned, my sudden confidence surprising me. I could feel Edward's relief at my side.

Esme smiled and stepped forward as well, reaching for my hand. Her cold, stone grasp was just as I expected, though completely incongruous to her.

"It's very nice to finally meet you," she said sincerely.

"Thank you. I'm glad to meet you, too." And I was. It was like meeting a fairy tale character—Snow White, or Cinderella, in the flesh.

The three vampires beside me suddenly turned their gaze to where Alice and Jasper had just appeared at the top of the wide staircase.

"Hey, Edward!" Alice called enthusiastically. She ran down the stairs, a streak of black hair and white skin, coming to a sudden and graceful stop in front of me. Carlisle and Esme shot warning glances at her, but I liked it. It seemed natural—for her, anyway.

"Hi, Beau!" Alice said, and she bounced forward and hopped up to kiss my cheek. If Carlisle and Esme had looked cautious before, they now looked staggered. There was shock in my eyes, too, but I was also very pleased that she seemed to approve of me so entirely. I was startled to feel Edward stiffen at my side. I glanced at his face, but his expression was unreadable.

"You do smell nice, I never noticed before," she commented, to my extreme embarrassment.

No one else seemed to know quite what to say, and then Jasper was there—tall and leonine.

"Beau," Jasper said with a nod. He kept his distance, not offering to shake my hand. But it was impossible to feel awkward near him. A rosy curtain of ease had passed over me, reminding me a bit of my sudden confidence earlier, and I gave a surprised little laugh. Jasper seemed to realize that I had caught on, and put on a small grin, tipping an invisible hat to me.

"Jasper," I greeted, nodding and smiling at him shyly. Then I turned my smile on all of them. “Your home is so warm.”

"Thank you," Esme said. "Beau, we're so glad that you came." She spoke with feeling, and I realized that she thought I was brave. I’d never really thought about it.

I also realized that Rosalie and Emmett were nowhere to be seen, and I remembered Edward's too-innocent denial when I'd asked him if the others didn't like me.

Carlisle's expression distracted me from this train of thought; he was gazing meaningfully at Edward with an intense expression. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edward nod once.

I looked away, trying to be polite. My eyes wandered again to the beautiful instrument on the platform by the door. I suddenly remembered my childhood fantasy that, should I ever win a lottery, I would buy a grand piano for my mother. She wasn't really good—she only played for herself on our secondhand upright—but I loved to watch her play. She was happy, absorbed—she seemed like a new, mysterious being to me then, someone outside the "mom" persona I took for granted. She'd put me through lessons, of course, but like most kids, I whined until she let me quit.

Esme noticed my preoccupation.

"Do you play?" she asked, inclining her head toward the piano.

I shook my head. "Not enough to count. It’s just beautiful. Is it yours?"

"No," she laughed. "Edward didn't tell you he was musical?"

"No." I glared at his suddenly innocent expression with narrowed eyes. "But I’m strangely unsurprised."

Esme raised her delicate eyebrows in confusion.

"Edward can do everything. And what’s worse, he’s good at everything," I explained.

Jasper snickered and Esme gave Edward a reproving look.

"I hope you haven't been showing off—it's rude," she scolded.

"Just a bit," he laughed freely. Her face softened at the sound, and they shared a brief look that I didn't understand, though Esme's face seemed almost smug.

"I’m suddenly sure that he’s been modest," I interjected.

"Well, play for him," Esme encouraged.

"You just said showing off was rude," he objected.

"There are exceptions to every rule," she replied.

"I'd like to hear you play," I volunteered.

"It's settled then." Esme pushed him toward the piano. He pulled me along, sitting me on the bench beside him.

He gave me a long, exasperated look before he turned to the keys.

And then his fingers flowed swiftly across the ivory, and the room was filled with a composition so complex, so luxuriant, it was impossible to believe only one set of hands played. I felt my chin drop, my mouth open in astonishment, and heard low chuckles behind me at my reaction.

Edward looked at me casually, the music still surging around us without a break, and winked. "Do you like it?"

"You wrote it, too?" I gasped, understanding.

He nodded. "It's Esme's favorite."

I closed my eyes, shaking my head.

"What's wrong?"

"Just feeling a bit human."

The music slowed, transforming into something softer, and to my surprise I detected the melody of the lullaby he’d been humming weaving through the profusion of notes.

"This one is yours," he said softly. The music was filled with a dark decadent sweetness and the soft illusory tones of dreams.

I couldn't speak.

"They like you, you know," he said conversationally. "Esme already adores you."

I glanced behind me, but the huge room was empty now.

"Where did they go?"

"Very subtly giving us some privacy, I suppose."

I sighed. "They like me. But Rosalie and Emmett..." I trailed off, not sure how to express my doubts.

He frowned. "Don't worry about Rosalie," he said, his eyes wide and persuasive. "She'll come around."

I pursed my lips skeptically. "And Emmett?"

"Well, he thinks I'm a lunatic, it's true, but he doesn't have a problem with you. He's trying to reason with Rosalie."

"What upsets her?" I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the answer.

He sighed deeply. "Rosalie struggles the most with...with what we are. It's hard for her to have someone on the outside know the truth. And she's a little jealous."

"Rosalie is jealous of me?" I asked incredulously. I tried to imagine a universe in which Rosalie would have any possible reason to feel jealous of me.

"It’s your humanity." He shrugged. "She was once human and can never be again. And yet there are the memories. They are especially clear for Rosalie."

"Oh," I muttered, still stunned. "Jasper, seemed... distant?"

"That's really my fault," he said. "I told you he was the most recent to try our way of life. I warned him to keep back."

“I liked him.” And Edward’s face grew calm and happy. "Esme and Carlisle... ?" I continued, wanting Edward’s enhanced play by play to ease my mind.

"Are happy to see me happy. Actually, Esme wouldn't care if you had a third eye and webbed feet. All this time she's been worried about me, afraid that there was something missing from my essential makeup, that I was too young when Carlisle changed me... She's ecstatic. Every time I touch you, she just about chokes with satisfaction."

"And Alice is great,” I grinned, remembering her dainty peck on the cheek.

"Alice has her own way of looking at things," he said through tight lips.

"Oh, the broodiness. And you're not going to explain that enigmatic little comment, are you?"

A moment of wordless communication passed between us. I knew that he knew that I knew that he was keeping something from me, and I realized from his expression that he wasn't going to give anything away. Not now.

"So what was Carlisle telling you before?"

His eyebrows pulled together. "You noticed that, did you?"

I shrugged. "I tend to notice obvious things. It’s a gift."

He looked at me thoughtfully for a few seconds before answering. "He wanted to tell me some news—he didn't know if it was something I would share with you."

"Will you?"

"I have to, because I'm going to be a little...overbearingly protective over the next few days—or weeks—and I wouldn't want you to think I'm naturally a tyrant."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, exactly. Alice just sees some visitors coming soon. They know we're here, and they're curious."

"Visitors?"

"Yes...well, they aren't like us, of course—in their hunting habits, I mean. They probably won't come into town at all, but I'm certainly not going to let you out of my sight till they're gone."

“Okay. That’s probably a good idea.”

"Finally, a rational response!" he murmured. "I was beginning to think you had no sense of self-preservation at all."

“Only when it comes to you, it would seem,” I murmured back, my eyes wandering again around the spacious room.

He followed my gaze. "Not what you expected?" he asked, his voice smug.

"No," I admitted.

"No coffins, no piled skulls in the corners; I don't even think we have cobwebs... what a disappointment this must be for you," he continued slyly.

"Oh, gee, you could tell? Shucks, I’m embarrassed.” But the room struck me, and my teasing was only half-hearted. “It's so light and open."

He was more serious when he answered. "It's the one place we never have to hide."

The song he was still playing, my song, drifted to an end, the final chords shifting to a more melancholy key. The last note hovered poignantly in the silence.

"Sad at the end," I murmured, remembering my earlier realization. “It would almost have to be, wouldn’t it? Still, thank you.” I realized there were tears in my eyes. I wiped at them with my sleeve, absently.

He touched the corner of my eye, trapping one I missed. He lifted his finger, examining the drop of moisture broodingly. Then, so quickly I couldn't be positive that he really did, he put his finger to his mouth to taste it.

I watched him, curious what would happen, and he gazed back for a long moment before he finally smiled.

"Do you want to see the rest of the house?"

"Well, if there aren’t any coffins, what’s the point? Do you at least have a decent dungeon?" I asked lightly, as I rose from the bench. “I love a good dungeon.”

He laughed, taking my hand, leading me away from the piano.

"I’m a disappointment once more," he said in a mockery of defeat.

We walked up the massive staircase, my hand trailing along the satin-smooth rail. The long hall at the top of the stairs was paneled with a honey-colored wood, the same as the floorboards.

"Rosalie and Emmett's room... Carlisle's office... Alice's room..." He gestured as he led me past the doors.

He would have continued, but I stopped dead at the end of the hall, staring incredulously at the ornament hanging on the wall above my head. Edward chuckled at my bewildered expression.

"You can laugh," he said. "It is sort of ironic."

I didn't laugh. My hand raised automatically, one finger extended as if to touch the large wooden cross, its dark patina contrasting with the lighter tone of the wall. I touched it, curious to see if the fine wood would feel as silky as it looked.

"It must be very old," I guessed.

He shrugged. "Early sixteen-thirties, more or less."

I looked away from the cross to stare at him.

"Why did you let me touch it?" I panicked, imagining my skin oil as damaging as acid to something that had seen so many years.

"It will be fine, Beau. It’s survived far worse. It’s mainly here out of nostalgia. It belonged to Carlisle's father."

"It must mean a lot to Carlisle, to have kept it in such good shape through the years," I postulated, still marveling at the collective years worth of experience housed under this roof.

"His father carved this himself. It hung on the wall above the pulpit in the vicarage where he preached."

The cross was over three hundred and seventy years old. And Carlisle still kept it, kept the memory of his father, as good as new. It struck me again how compassionate Carlisle was, and how many years he had remained so, through so much history that could have easily killed such compassion. My respect for him became absolute.

"Are you all right?" He sounded worried.

"How old is Carlisle, then, exactly?" I asked quietly, ignoring his question, still staring up.

"He just celebrated his three hundred and sixty-second birthday," Edward said. I looked back at him, a million questions in my eyes.

He watched me carefully as he spoke.

"Carlisle was born in London, in the sixteen-forties, he believes. Time wasn't marked as accurately then, for the common people anyway. It was just before Cromwell's rule, though."

I realized how spotty my historical knowledge was. I couldn’t place the name or get a firm grip on the time period. But I listened on, regardless.

"He was the only son of an Anglican pastor. His mother died giving birth to him. His father was an intolerant man. As the Protestants came into power, he was enthusiastic in his persecution of Roman Catholics and other religions. He also believed very strongly in the reality of evil. He led hunts for witches, werewolves...and vampires." I realized that I’d assumed wrong. Carlisle hadn’t kept the cross out of compassionate memories of his father. Rather than dash my respect, this new knowledge only strengthened it. Carlisle’s compassion had survived more than I had imagined.

"They burned a lot of innocent humans—the real creatures that he sought were not so easy to catch.

"When the pastor grew old, he placed his obedient son in charge of the raids. At first, Carlisle was a disappointment; he was not quick to accuse, to see demons where they did not exist. But he was persistent, and more clever than his father. He actually discovered a coven of true vampires that lived hidden in the sewers of the city, only coming out by night to hunt. In those days, when monsters were not just myths and legends, that was the way many lived.

"The people gathered their pitchforks and torches, of course," his brief laugh was darker now, "and waited where Carlisle had seen the monsters exit into the street. Eventually one emerged."

His voice was very quiet; I strained to catch the words.

"He must have been ancient, and weak with hunger. Carlisle heard him call out in Latin to the others when he caught the scent of the mob. He ran through the streets, and Carlisle—he was twenty-three and very fast—was in the lead of the pursuit. The creature could have easily outrun them, but Carlisle thinks he was too hungry, so he turned and attacked. He fell on Carlisle first, but the others were close behind, and he turned to defend himself. He killed two men, and made off with a third, leaving Carlisle bleeding in the street."

He paused. I could sense he was editing something, keeping something from me.

"Carlisle knew what his father would do. The bodies would be burned—anything infected by the monster must be destroyed. Carlisle acted instinctively to save his own life. He crawled away from the alley while the mob followed the fiend and his victim. He hid in a cellar, buried himself in rotting potatoes for three days. It's a miracle he was able to keep silent, to stay undiscovered.

"It was over then, and he realized what he had become."

I'm not sure what my face was revealing, but he suddenly broke off.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"You asked that already," I reminded him.

He smiled. "And you never answered. But I expect you have a few more questions for me."

"A few million more, nothing too crazy."

His smile widened over his brilliant teeth. He started back down the hall, pulling me along by the hand. "Come on, then," he encouraged. "I'll show you."


	17. Carlisle

He led me back to the room that he'd pointed out as Carlisle's office. He paused outside the door for an instant.

"Come in," Carlisle's voice invited.

Edward opened the door to a high-ceilinged room with tall, west-facing windows. The walls were paneled again, in a darker wood—where they were visible. Most of the wall space was taken up by towering bookshelves that reached high above my head and held more books than I'd ever seen outside a library. It was so beautiful.

Carlisle sat behind a huge mahogany desk in a leather chair. He was just placing a bookmark in the pages of the thick volume he held. The room was how I'd always imagined a college dean's would look—only Carlisle looked too young to fit the part.

"What can I do for you?" he asked us pleasantly, rising from his seat.

"I wanted to show Beau some of our history," Edward said. "Well, your history, actually."

"Didn't mean to disturb you," I apologized.

"Not at all. Where are you going to start?"

"The Waggoner," Edward replied, placing one hand lightly on my shoulder and spinning me around to look back toward the door we'd just come through. Every time he touched me, in even the most casual way, my heart had an audible reaction. It was more embarrassing with Carlisle there.

The wall we faced now was different from the others. Instead of bookshelves, this wall was crowded with framed pictures of all sizes, some in vibrant colors, others dull monochromes. I searched for some logic, some binding motif the collection had in common, but I found nothing in my hasty examination.

Edward pulled me toward the far left side, standing me in front of a small square oil painting in a plain wooden frame. This one did not stand out among the bigger and brighter pieces; painted in varying tones of sepia, it depicted a miniature city full of steeply slanted roofs, with thin spires atop a few scattered towers. A wide river filled the foreground, crossed by a bridge covered with structures that looked like tiny cathedrals.

"London in the sixteen-fifties," Edward said.

"The London of my youth," Carlisle added, from a few feet behind us. Of course, I hadn't heard him approach. Edward squeezed my hand.

"Will you tell the story?" Edward asked. I twisted a little to see Carlisle's reaction.

He met my glance and smiled. "I would," he replied. "But I'm actually running a bit late. The hospital called this morning—Dr. Snow is taking a sick day. Besides, you know the stories as well as I do," he added, grinning at Edward now.

It was such a strange combination—the everyday concerns of the town doctor wedged into the middle of a discussion on that town doctor’s early days in seventeenth-century London. It was infuriatingly casual. I didn’t know if it made this all seem more real or less.

It was also awkward knowing that they spoke aloud only for my benefit.

After another warm smile for me, Carlisle left the room.

I stared at the little picture of Carlisle's birthplace for a long moment.

"What happened then?" I finally asked, staring up at Edward, who was watching me. "When he realized what had happened to him?"

He glanced back to the paintings and I looked to see which image caught his interest now. It was a larger landscape in dull fall colors—an empty, shadowed meadow in a forest, with a craggy peak in the distance.

"When he knew what he had become," Edward said quietly, "he rebelled against it. He tried to destroy himself. But that's not easily done."

"How?" I didn't mean to say it aloud, but the word broke through my shock. Now that I’d met him, even after such a short meeting, I didn’t like thinking of Carlisle in such distress.

"He jumped from great heights," Edward told me, his voice impassive. "He tried to drown himself in the ocean... but he was young to the new life, and very strong. It is amazing that he was able to resist... feeding... while he was still so new. The instinct is more powerful then, it takes over everything. But he was so repelled by himself that he had the strength to try to kill himself with starvation."

"Which isn’t possible?" My voice was faint.

"No, there are very few ways we can be killed."

I didn’t ask what they were. It seemed rude.

"So he grew very hungry, and eventually weak. He strayed as far as he could from the human populace, recognizing that his willpower was weakening, too. For months he wandered by night, seeking the loneliest places, loathing himself.

"One night, a herd of deer passed his hiding place. He was so wild with thirst that he attacked without a thought. His strength returned, and he realized there was an alternative to being the vile monster he feared. Had he not eaten venison in his former life? Over the next months, his new philosophy was born. He could exist without being a demon. He found himself again.

"He began to make better use of his time. He'd always been intelligent, eager to learn. Now he had unlimited time before him. He studied by night, planned by day. He swam to France and—"

"Hold up. Swam to France?"

"People swim the Channel all the time, Beau," he reminded me patiently.

"Right. It just sounded so epic in that context. Go on."

"Swimming is easy for us—"

"Everything is easy for you," I griped.

He waited, his expression amused.

"I won't interrupt again, scouts honor." I held up the three fingered scout sign, all that had stuck from the one disastrous week of scouting I’d endured in my eighth year on this earth, when my mother had decided that joining a boy scout troop would be a great way to pry me out of my shell.

He chuckled darkly and finished his sentence. "Because, technically, we don't need to breathe."

"You—"

“ _ You _ were a boy scout?” Edward asked. “How did that work out for you?”

“I almost started a wildfire in the desert. I have a talent, they say. You don’t need to breathe?”

He laughed, then put his cold finger lightly to my lips. "You certainly are talented. Quiet now, or I’ll never finish."

"Don’t need oxygen...You can't spring something like that on me and then expect me not to exclaim," I mumbled against his finger. “I’m an exclaimer.”

He lifted his hand, moving it to rest against my neck. The speed of my heart reacted to that, but I persisted.

"You don't have to breathe?" I asked, expecting some clarification.

"No, it's not necessary. Just a habit." He shrugged.

"How long can you go... without breathing?"

"Indefinitely, I suppose; I don't know. It gets a bit uncomfortable—being without a sense of smell."

"A bit uncomfortable," I echoed sardonically.

I wasn't paying attention to my own expression, but something in it made him grow somber. His hand dropped to his side and he stood very still, his eyes intent on my face. The silence lengthened. His features were immobile as stone.

"What is it?" I whispered, cupping his frozen face.

His face softened under my hand, and he sighed. "I keep waiting for it to happen."

"For what to happen?"

"I know that at some point, something I tell you or something you see is going to be too much and you'll run away from me, screaming as you go." He smiled half a smile, but his eyes were serious. "I won't stop you. I want this to happen. I want you safe. And yet, I want to be with you. The two desires are impossible to reconcile..." He trailed off, staring at my face. Waiting.

"I'm not running anywhere," I promised. “And I’m not a screamer, as a rule. I’m an exclaimer.”

"We'll see," he said, smiling again.

I frowned at him, mocking confusion. "Are you coming on to me?”

He frowned back and I sighed.

“Alright, alright, go on—Carlisle was swimming to France, you know, as one does."

He paused, getting back into his story. Reflexively, his eyes flickered to another picture—the most colorful of them all, the most ornately framed, and the largest; it was twice as wide as the door it hung next to. The canvas overflowed with bright figures in swirling robes, writhing around long pillars and off marbled balconies. I couldn't tell if it represented Greek mythology, or if the characters floating in the clouds above were meant to be biblical.

"Carlisle swam to France, and continued on through Europe, to the universities there. By night he studied music, science, medicine—and found his calling, his penance, in that, in saving human lives." His expression became awed, almost reverent. "I can't adequately describe the struggle; it took Carlisle two centuries of torturous effort to perfect his self-control. Now he is all but immune to the scent of human blood, and he is able to do the work he loves without agony. He finds a great deal of peace there, at the hospital..." Edward stared off into space for a long moment. Suddenly he seemed to recall his purpose. He tapped his finger against the huge painting in front of us.

"He was studying in Italy when he discovered the others there. They were much more civilized and educated than the wraiths of the London sewers."

He touched a comparatively sedate quartet of figures painted on the highest balcony, looking down calmly on the mayhem below them. I examined the grouping carefully and realized, with a startled laugh, that I recognized the golden-haired man.

"Solimena was greatly inspired by Carlisle's friends. He often painted them as gods," Edward chuckled. "Aro, Marcus, Caius," he said, indicating the other three, two black-haired, one snowy-white. "Nighttime patrons of the arts."

"What happened to them?" I wondered aloud, my fingertip hovering a centimeter from the figures on the canvas.

"They're still there." He shrugged. "As they have been for who knows how many millennia. Carlisle stayed with them only for a short time, just a few decades. He greatly admired their civility, their refinement, but they persisted in trying to cure his aversion to 'his natural food source,' as they called it. They tried to persuade him, and he tried to persuade them, to no avail. At that point, Carlisle decided to try the New World. He dreamed of finding others like himself. He was very lonely, you see.

“Did he swim there too?” I snorted, then balked at his glare. “Alright, alright. Quiet.” I raised my hands in surrender.

"He didn't find anyone for a long time. But, as monsters became the stuff of fairy tales, he found he could interact with unsuspecting humans as if he were one of them. He began practicing medicine. But the companionship he craved evaded him; he couldn't risk familiarity.

"When the influenza epidemic hit, he was working nights in a hospital in Chicago. He'd been turning over an idea in his mind for several years, and he had almost decided to act—since he couldn't find a companion, he would create one. He wasn't absolutely sure how his own transformation had occurred, so he was hesitant. And he was loath to steal anyone's life the way his had been stolen. It was in that frame of mind that he found me. There was no hope for me; I was left in a ward with the dying. He had nursed my parents, and knew I was alone. He decided to try..."

His voice, nearly a whisper now, trailed off. He stared unseeingly through the west windows. I wondered which images filled his mind now, Carlisle's memories or his own. I waited quietly.

When he turned back to me, a gentle angel's smile lit his expression.

"And so we've come full circle," he concluded.

"Have you always stayed with Carlisle, then?" I wondered.

"Almost always." He put his hand lightly on my waist and pulled me with him as he walked through the door. I stared back at the wall of pictures, wondering if I would ever get to hear the other stories they surely represented.

Edward didn't say any more as we walked down the hall, so I asked, "Almost?"

He sighed, seeming reluctant to answer. "Well, I had a typical bout of rebellious adolescence—about ten years after I was... born... created, whatever you want to call it. I wasn't sold on his life of abstinence, and I resented him for curbing my appetite. So I went off on my own for a time."

“Of course.” I was intrigued by his confession, rather than frightened, as he no doubt wished I was.

I vaguely realized that we were headed up the next flight of stairs, but I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings.

"That doesn't repulse you?" he asked.

"No."

"Why not?" He studied me closely.

"I guess... it seems natural. You must have been like a house cat, frustrated, watching birds all day through the window. Can’t force someone to go against their nature and call it freedom. I mean… they have to have the choice. They have to  _ make _ the choice."

He barked a laugh, more loudly than before, and it snapped me out of my philosophizing. We were at the top of the stairs now, in another paneled hallway.

“You are so…,” he stopped, stood studying me, eyes searching and face impossible to read, “strange.”

He smiled, shook his head and plowed on with his story.

"From the time of my new birth," he murmured, "I had the advantage of knowing what everyone around me was thinking, both human and non-human alike. That's why it took me ten years to defy Carlisle—I could read his perfect sincerity, understand exactly why he lived the way he did.

"It took me only a few years to return to Carlisle and recommit to his vision. I thought I would be exempt from the... depression... that accompanies killing with a functioning conscience. Because I knew the thoughts of my prey, I could pass over the innocent and pursue only the evil. If I followed a murderer down a dark alley where he stalked a young girl—if I saved her, then surely I wasn't so terrible."

I imagined only too clearly what he described, having lived through something quite similar—the alley at night, the frightened girl, the shadowed man behind her. And Edward, Edward as he hunted, terrible and glorious as a young god, unstoppable. Would she have been grateful, that girl, or more frightened than before?

"But as time went on, I began to see the monster in my eyes. I couldn't escape the debt of so much human life taken, no matter how justified. And I went back to Carlisle and Esme. They welcomed me back like the prodigal. It was more than I deserved."

We'd come to a stop in front of the last door in the hall.

"My room," he informed me, opening it and pulling me through.

His room faced south, with a wall-sized window like the great room below. The whole back side of the house must be glass. His view looked down on the winding Sol Duc River, across the untouched forest to the Olympic Mountain range. The mountains were much closer than I would have believed.

The western wall was completely covered with shelf after shelf of CDs. His room was better stocked than a music store. In the corner was a sophisticated-looking sound system—the kind I was afraid to touch because I'd definitely break something. There was no bed, only a wide and inviting black leather sofa. The floor was covered with a thick golden carpet and the walls were hung with heavy fabric in a slightly darker shade.

"Good acoustics?" I guessed.

He chuckled and nodded.

He picked up a remote and turned the stereo on. It was quiet, but the soft jazz number sounded like the band was in the room with us. I went to look at his mind-boggling music collection.

"How do you have these organized?" I asked, unable to find any rhyme or reason to the titles.

He wasn't paying attention.

"Ummm, by year, and then by personal preference within that frame," he said absently.

I turned, and he was looking at me with a peculiar expression in his eyes.

"What?"

"I was prepared to feel... relieved. Having you know about everything, not needing to keep secrets from you. But I didn't expect to feel more than that. I like it. It makes me... happy." He shrugged, smiling slightly.

"Good," I said, smiling back. I'd worried that he might regret telling me these things. It was good to know that wasn't the case. “That’s your best emotion, really.”

But then, as his eyes dissected my expression, his smile faded and his forehead creased.

"Still waiting for the running and the screaming?" I guessed.

A faint smile touched his lips, and he nodded.

"I hate to burst your bubble, but you're not scary. Not even a little," I teased. “You’re like, a fluffy little puppy or something, with milk teeth.”

He stopped, raising his eyebrows in blatant disbelief. Then he flashed a wide, wicked smile.

"You really shouldn't have said that," he chuckled.

He growled, a low sound in the back of his throat; his lips curled back over his perfect teeth. His body shifted suddenly, half-crouched, tensed like a lion about to pounce.

"Oh, come on."

I didn't see him leap at me—it was much too fast. I only found myself suddenly airborne, and then we crashed onto the sofa, knocking it into the wall. All the while, his arms formed an iron cage of protection around me—I was barely jostled. And I was giggling madly as we stopped, trying in vain to right myself.

He wasn't having that. He curled me into a ball against his chest, holding me more securely than iron chains. I glared at him, with all the effect of an angry baby goat, apparently, as he merely grinned, his eyes bright with playful humor. He was such a cute little puppy.

"You were saying?" he said, then growled playfully.

"Oh, fine. I admit it. You’re a terrifying monster," I said, my sarcasm marred by the left-over giggles in my voice.

"You better believe it," he smiled, smugly.

"So..." I squirmed for effect, not really uncomfortable. "Now that you’ve caught me, what ever might you be planning to do with me?"

He just laughed.

"Can we come in?" a soft voice sounded from the hall.

I struggled in earnest to free myself, but Edward merely readjusted me so that I was somewhat more conventionally seated on his lap. I could see it was Alice, then, and Jasper behind her in the doorway. My cheeks burned, but Edward seemed at ease.

"Go ahead." Edward was still chuckling quietly.

Alice seemed to find nothing unusual in our embrace; she walked—almost danced, her movements were so graceful—to the center of the room, where she folded herself sinuously onto the floor. Jasper, however, paused at the door, his expression holding a bit of awe. He stared at Edward's face, and I wondered what he felt from us with his unusual sensitivity.

"It sounded like you were having Beau for lunch, and we came to see if you would share," Alice announced.

And my giggle fit came back, communicably passing to Edward who couldn’t help but grin—too cool for giggles, obviously.

"Sorry, I don't believe I have enough to spare," he replied, his arms holding me recklessly close.

"Actually," Jasper said, smiling despite himself as he walked into the room, "Alice says there's gonna be a storm tonight, and Emmett wants to play ball. You game?"

I heard a bit of the south in Jasper’s words, though I couldn’t have told you which part of the south, and I felt interest zing through me once more, about all of them. There was so much I wanted to learn. Aside from the accent, the words he spoke were all common enough, but the context confused me. I gathered that Alice was a bit more reliable than the weatherman, though.

Edward's eyes lit up, but he hesitated.

"Of course, you should bring Beau," Alice chirped, and Jasper grinned, sensing my confusion no doubt.

"Do you want to go?" Edward asked me, excited, his expression vivid.

"Sure." I agreed automatically, then on second thought tried for a few details on what I’d just agreed to. "Um, where though? And just to clarify, we’re going to play some type of game with a ball because there’s a thunderstorm? Not that that’s not totally normal, or anything…."

He smiled wider. "We have to wait for thunder to play—you'll see why," he promised.

“Okaaay.” I looked to Alice. "Will I need an umbrella?"

All three began to laugh.

"Will he?" Jasper asked Alice.

"No." She was positive. "The storm will hit over town. It should be dry enough in the clearing."

"Good, then." The enthusiasm in Jasper's voice was catching, naturally. I found myself eager, rather than scared of the damage I could do in any game involving a ball. At least they were all sturdy.

"Let's go see if Carlisle will come." Alice bounded up and to the door in a fashion that would break any ballerina's heart.

"Like you really need to ask," Jasper teased, and they were swiftly on their way. Jasper managed to inconspicuously close the door behind them.

"What kind of ball will we be playing?" I asked, curious—worried.

" _ You _ will be watching," Edward clarified. " _ We _ will be playing baseball."

I rolled my eyes. "Vampires like baseball?"

"It's the American pastime," he said with mock solemnity.

I rolled my eyes again, for good measure.


	18. The Game

It was just beginning to drizzle when Edward turned onto my street. Up until that moment, I'd had no doubt that he'd be staying with me while I spent a few hours in the real world.

Then I saw the black car, a weathered Ford, parked in Charlie's driveway—and heard Edward mutter something unintelligible in a low, harsh voice.

Leaning away from the rain under the shallow front porch, Julz Black stood behind her father's wheelchair. Billy's face was impassive as stone as Edward parked my truck against the curb. Julz stared down, her expression mortified.

Edward's low voice was furious. "This is crossing the line."

"He came to warn Charlie?" I guessed, horrified and angry all at once.

Edward just nodded, answering Billy's gaze through the rain with narrowed eyes.

Thank freaking god Charlie wasn't home yet.

"Let me deal with this," I suggested. Edward's black glare made me anxious.

To my surprise, he agreed. "That's probably best. Be careful, though. The child has no idea."

I bridled a little at the word. "Child? Okay, Julz is barely younger than me," I reminded him.

He looked at me then, his anger abruptly fading. "Oh, I know," he assured me with a self-chastising grin.

“Wow. First a stalker, now a pedophile.” I grinned back, putting my hand on the door handle and adopting a horrible Bronx Accent. “You ain’t no nice guy, Edward Cullen.”

"Just get them inside," he instructed, rolling his eyes at my  _ antics _ as he’d no doubt call them, "so I can leave. I'll be back around dusk."

"You want my truck?" I offered, afterward wondering how I would explain its absence to Charlie.

He rolled his eyes. At this rate they’d roll right out of his head. "I could walk home faster than this truck moves."

"You have to leave?" I asked, too angry to be wistful. “What do they have, a restraining order on you?”

He smiled at my fierce expression. "Essentially, they do. And for good reason, generally speaking. And just think, after you get rid of them," he threw a dark glance in the Blacks' direction, "you still have to prepare Charlie to meet your new boyfriend." He grinned widely, showing all of his teeth. “Have fun.”

I groaned. "You had to say it like that? You’re a horrible person, you know that?"

He smiled the crooked smile that I loved. "A monster."

“My monster,” I replied, and slowly leaned in, telegraphing my intentions, to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised. His eyes flickered back to the porch, and then he leaned in closer to swiftly kiss me just under the edge of my jaw. My heart lurched frantically, then I, too, glanced toward the porch. Billy's face was no longer impassive, and his hands clutched at the armrests of his chair.

"Better be soon," I threatened as I opened the door and stepped out into the rain.

I could feel his eyes on my back as I half-ran through the light sprinkle toward the porch.

"Hey, Billy. Hi, Julz." I greeted them as cheerfully as I could manage. "Charlie's gone for the day—I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Not long," Billy said in a subdued tone. His black eyes were piercing. "I just wanted to bring this up." He indicated a brown paper sack resting in his lap.

"Thanks," I said, having no idea what it could be, but wanting to be polite anyway. "You want to come in and dry off?"

I pretended to be oblivious to his intense scrutiny as I unlocked the door and waved them in ahead of me.

"Here, let me take that," I offered, turning to shut the door. I allowed myself one last glance at Edward. He was waiting, perfectly still, his eyes solemn.

"You'll want to put it in the fridge," Billy noted as he handed me the package. "It's some of Harry Clearwater's homemade fish fry—Charlie's favorite. The fridge keeps it drier." He shrugged.

"Cool," I enthused, with feeling this time. "I was running out of new ways to fix fish, and he's bound to bring home more tonight."

"Fishing again?" Billy asked with a subtle gleam in his eye. "Down at the usual spot? Maybe I'll run by and see him."

"No," I quickly lied, my face staying impassive. "He said he was headed someplace new... I know he told me where, too, I just can’t remember what he said."

He took in my carefully nonchalant expression, and it made him thoughtful.

"Julz," he said, still appraising me. "Why don't you go get that new picture of Rico out of the car? I'll leave that for Charlie, too."

"Where is it?" Julz asked, her voice morose. I glanced at her, but she was staring at the floor, her eyebrows pulling together.

"I think I saw it in the trunk," Billy said. "You may have to dig for it."

Julz slouched back out into the rain.

Billy and I faced each other in silence. After a few seconds, the quiet started to feel awkward, so I turned and headed to the kitchen. I could hear his wet wheels squeak against the linoleum as he followed.

I shoved the bag onto the crowded top shelf of the fridge and spun around to confront him. His deeply lined face was unreadable.

"Dad won't be back for a long time." And my voice had gone tight, was almost threatening, though threatening what, I had no idea.

He nodded in agreement, calm, and said nothing.

"Thanks again for the fish fry." A clear, only technically polite, dismissal.

He continued nodding. I leaned back into the counter, arms folded across my chest. I knew then that he wouldn’t leave until he’d spoken his piece.

He seemed to sense that I had given up on small talk. "Beau," he said, and then he hesitated.

I waited.

"Beau," he said again, "Charlie is one of my best friends."

"Yes."

He spoke each word carefully in his rumbling voice. "I noticed you've been spending time with one of the Cullens."

"Yes," I repeated curtly.

His eyes narrowed. "Maybe it's none of my business, but I don't think that is such a good idea."

"You're right," I agreed calmly, though firmly. "That is none of your business."

He raised his graying eyebrows at my tone. "You probably don't know this, but the Cullen family has an unpleasant reputation on the reservation."

"I do know that," I informed him in the same calm, hard voice. This surprised him. "But that reputation couldn't be deserved, could it? Because the Cullens never set foot on the reservation, do they?" I could see that my less than subtle reminder of the agreement that both bound and protected his tribe pulled him up short.

"That's true," he acceded, his eyes guarded. "You seem... well informed about the Cullens. More informed than I expected."

I stared him down. "It seems I’m better informed than you are."

He pursed his thick lips as he considered that. "Maybe." he allowed, but his eyes were shrewd. "Is Charlie as well informed?"

This didn’t stop me short for a second. I’d known he’d play this particular card.

"Dad thinks a lot of the Cullens,” I explained. “Based on their character. And the information I have about them isn’t exactly mine to give away. Even to Dad.”

He clearly understood. His expression was unhappy, but unsurprised.

"It's not my business," he said, conceding. "But it may be Charlie's. He’s your father."

"I’m aware.” I dropped my arms, ran a hand through my damp hair. “Look,” I told him. “If Dad ever does need to know more about the Cullens,  _ I’ll _ give him any information that  _ I _ deem relevant. It’s my business after all, right? And you have a pact to keep."

I wondered if he understood my convoluted ultimatum, jumbled as it became with my struggle not to say anything compromising. But he seemed to. He thought about it while the rain picked up against the roof, the only sound breaking the silence.

"Yes, I do," he finally surrendered. "I guess that seems reasonable enough."

I nodded. "Thank you, Billy."

"Just think about what you're doing, Beau," he urged.

"I’ll continue to do so," I agreed.

He frowned. "What I meant to say was, don't do what you're doing."

I looked into his eyes, filled with nothing but concern for me.

“I know what you meant. And I know you care. Thanks for that.”

“But you’re not going to stop.” It wasn’t a question. And I didn’t need to answer.

Just then the front door banged loudly, and I jumped at the sound.

"There's no picture anywhere in that car." Julz's complaining voice reached us before she did. The shoulders of her shirt were stained with the rain, her hair dripping, when she rounded the corner.

"Hmm," Billy grunted, suddenly detached, spinning his chair around to face his daughter. "I guess I left it at home."

Julz rolled her eyes dramatically. "Great."

"Well, Beau, tell Charlie," Billy paused before continuing, "that we stopped by, I mean."

"Sure thing," I muttered.

Julz was surprised. "We’re leaving already?"

"Charlie's gonna be out late," Billy explained as he rolled himself past her.

"Oh." Julz looked disappointed. "Well, I guess see you later Beau."

"Yeah," I agreed.

"Take care," Billy warned me. I didn't answer.

Julz helped her father out the door. I waved briefly, glancing swiftly toward my now-empty truck, and then shut the door before they were gone.

I stood in the hallway for a minute, listening to the sound of their car as it backed out and drove away. I stayed where I was, waiting for the irritation and anxiety to subside. When the tension eventually faded enough, I headed upstairs to change out of my semi-dressy clothes.

I tried on a couple different shirts, not sure why, or what to expect tonight. As I concentrated on what was coming, what had just passed became insignificant. Now that I was removed from Jasper's and Edward's influence, I began to make up for not being terrified before. They had liked me. Except for Rosalie. They had liked me. I gave up on choosing a shirt, throwing on an old flannel over a t-shirt and jeans. I’d be in my raincoat all night anyway.

The phone rang and I sprinted downstairs to get it. There was one voice I wanted to hear; anything else would be a disappointment. But I knew that if Edward wanted to talk to me, he'd probably just materialize in my room. And why hadn’t he?

"Hello?" I asked, breathless.

"Beau? It's me," Jessica said.

"Oh, hey, Jess." I scrambled for a moment to come back down to reality. It felt like months rather than days since I'd spoken to Jess. "The dance?" I led.

"Was so much fun!" Jessica gushed. Needing no more invitation than that, she launched into a minute-by-minute account of the previous night. I mmm'd and ahh'd at the right places, but it wasn't easy to concentrate. Jessica, Mike, the dance, the school—they all seemed strangely far away at the moment, as in on another planet. My eyes kept flashing to the window, trying to judge the degree of light behind the heavy clouds.

"Did you hear what I said, Beau?" Jess asked, exasperated.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Mike kissed me is what! Can you believe it?"

"That’s awesome, Jess!" I burst out, actually enthused for her.

"So what did you end up doing yesterday?" Jessica asked, still smiling from the sound of it.

"Nothing, really. Just hung around outside to enjoy the sun."

I heard Charlie's car in the garage.

"Did you ever hear anything more from Edward Cullen?"

The front door slammed and I could hear Charlie banging around under the stairs, putting his tackle away.

"Um." I hesitated, not sure what my story was anymore.

"Hey there, kid!" Charlie called as he walked into the kitchen. I waved at him.

Jess heard his voice. "Oh, your dad's there. Never mind—we'll talk tomorrow. See you in Trig."

"See ya, Jess." I hung up the phone.

"Hey, Dad," I said. He was scrubbing his hands in the sink. "Where's the fish?"

"I put it out in the freezer."

"I'll go grab a few pieces before they freeze—Billy dropped off some of Harry Clearwater's fish fry this afternoon." I worked to sound enthusiastic, ending up sounding a bit like an infomercial and grimacing.

"He did?" Charlie's eyes lit up. "That's my favorite."

Charlie cleaned up while I got dinner ready. It didn't take long till we were sitting at the table, eating in silence. Charlie was enjoying his food. I was wondering desperately how to fulfill Edward’s requirement, struggling to think of a way to broach the subject.

"What did you do with yourself today?" he asked, snapping me out of my scheming.

"Hung out around the house this afternoon..." Only the very recent part of this afternoon, actually. I tried to keep my voice upbeat, but my stomach was hollow. "And this morning I was over at the Cullens'."

Charlie dropped his fork.

"Dr. Cullen's place?" he asked in astonishment.

I pretended not to notice his reaction. "Yeah."

"What were you doing there?" He hadn't picked his fork back up.

"Well, I sort of have a... date type deal with Edward Cullen tonight, and he wanted to introduce me to his parents... Dad?"

It appeared that he was having an aneurysm.

"Dad, you ok? Hey, are you dying?"

"You’re dating Edward Cullen?" he all but squeaked. “Well that’s...”

Uh-oh. "Good...right?"

"It’s fine, it’s fine, of course it’s fine," he tried to assure, sounding a bit gut-punched. “But isn’t he kind of old for you?”

"We're both juniors," I evaded—corrected—though he was creepily right.

"Wait..." He paused. "Which one is Edwin?"

"Ed _ ward _ is the youngest, the one with the reddish-brown hair." The perfect one, the godlike one...

"Oh, well, that's," he struggled, "better, I guess. I don't like the look of that big one. I'm sure he's a nice boy and all, but he looks too... mature for you. Is this Edwin your boyfriend?"

"It's still Edward, Dad."

"Is he?"

"Sort of, I guess."

"Now wait, Beau. You said, just last night, that you weren't interested in any of the boys in town." What he really was saying, which was obvious, was that he thought he had more time to get used to the situation. Meaning me. I was a situation. Fun. But he picked up his fork again, so I could see the worst was over.

"Technically Edward doesn't live in town."

He gave me a disparaging look as he chewed.

"I know, I know, you just looked freaked out enough with everything last night, I didn’t want to add this on top of it. And anyways," I continued, "it's kind of at an early stage, you know. What I mean is that you don’t have to use all the boyfriend talk, okay? I think it’s embarrassing for both of us."

"When is he coming over for your... date?" He looked like he was having trouble getting used to the word. I wondered how much of that had to do with my non-existent dating history and how much was thanks to the situation that I’d recently become.

I looked at the clock, having lost track of time during the conversation. "In a few minutes."

"Where is he taking you? Or are you taking him?” He shook his head. “Where are you two going?"

I groaned loudly. "I hope you're getting the Spanish Inquisition out of your system now. We're going to play baseball with his family."

His face puckered, and then he finally chuckled. "You're playing baseball?"

"Well, watching, most of the time." All of the time.

"You must really like this guy," he observed suspiciously.

I sighed and rolled my eyes for his benefit.

When I heard the roar of an engine pulling up in front of the house, I immediately jumped up and started cleaning my dishes.

"Leave the dishes, I can do them tonight. You baby me too much."

The doorbell rang, and Charlie stalked off to answer it. I was half a step behind him.

I hadn't realized how hard it was pouring outside. Edward stood in the halo of the porch light, looking like a male model in an advertisement for raincoats.

"Come on in, Edward."

I breathed a sigh of relief when he got the name right.

"Thanks, Chief Swan," Edward said in a respectful voice.

"Go ahead and call me Charlie. Here, I'll take your jacket."

"Thanks, sir."

"Have a seat there, Edward."

I grimaced.

Edward sat down fluidly in the only chair, forcing me to sit next to Chief Swan on the sofa. I shot him a vengeful look. He winked behind Charlie's back.

"So I hear you're getting the kid to watch baseball." Only in Washington would the fact that it was raining buckets have no bearing at all on the playing of outdoor sports.

"Yes, sir, that's the plan." He didn't look surprised that I'd told my father the truth. He might have been listening, though.

"Well, more power to you, I guess."

Charlie laughed, and Edward joined in.

"Okay," I breezed, standing up. "That’s quite enough humor at my expense, thank you.” I walked back to the hall and pulled on my jacket. They followed. Edward donned his raincoat as well, thankfully taking the not-so-subtle hint.

"Not too late, Kid."

"Don't worry, Charlie, I'll have him back early," Edward promised.

And Charlie looked at me for a long moment, at us both, then nodded. "Take care, all right?"

"I promise, sir," Edward vowed.

“No worries, Dad,” I assured at the same time.

Charlie nodded again.

“Okay then,” He said directly, and I knew it was as good as his blessing.

I gave him a look of thanks and nodded, turning to go. Edward followed. I may be a monster. I may be a situation. But my dad accepted me anyway, and that was definitely worth something.

When I brought my focus back to reality, I stopped dead. I’d only made it halfway down the porch steps. Behind my truck was a monster Jeep. Its tires were higher than my waist. There were metal guards over the headlights and tail-lights, and four large spotlights attached to the crash bar. The hardtop was shiny grey.

Charlie let out a low whistle. My slack jaw turned to a grin that I could just tell made me look like an excited five-year-old.

“We’re—” The word came, breathless.

I couldn’t finish. I looked to Edward for confirmation. Was finding it hard not to bounce up and down excitedly.

"Wear your seat belts," Charlie choked out.

Edward followed me around to my side and opened the door. I gauged the distance to the seat and prepared to jump for it, probably looking like a very confused kitten about to try to tackle a bookshelf. He sighed, and then lifted me in with one hand, not quite by the scruff of my neck. I hoped Charlie didn't notice.

As he went around to the driver's side, at a normal, human pace, I tried to put on my seat belt. But there were too many buckles.

"Why?" I asked, holding a few of them out to him when he opened the door.

"It's an off-roading harness."

"Oh. Cool. But why do you have them? I mean, they’re custom, right? They look custom. This whole jeep looks custom." I tried to find the right places for all the buckles to fit as I rambled, but it wasn't going too quickly.

“I installed them while I waited to pick you up.”

“These,” I held up a messy tangle of the straps, “are for me, specifically? Seriously? I think I hate that I love how overprotective you are, and I don’t want to find it adorable, but I kind of do....?”

He chuckled and reached over to help me. I was glad that the rain was too heavy to see Charlie clearly on the porch. That meant he couldn't see how Edward's hands lingered at my neck, brushed along my collarbones. I gave up trying to help him and focused on breathing.

Edward turned the key and the engine roared to life. We pulled away from the house.

"Why do you have a Jeep? How many cars do—? Why do you have so many vehicles? No one could possibly need so many vehicles."

"The Jeep is Emmett's. I didn't think you'd want to run the whole way."

"You’d be mostly wrong if it weren’t for the rain. Where do you keep this thing?"

"We remodeled one of the outbuildings into a garage."

"How big is your garage? I find it ridiculously unfair that you don’t have to wear a child safety harness too."

He threw me a disbelieving look.

Then something sunk in.

"Run the whole way? As in, we're still going to run part of the way?" My voice edged up a few octaves, my excitement reaching still higher levels. I was surprised that it could happen as well.

He grinned brightly. "Have I told you that you’re probably the most adorable thing that I’ve ever encountered? Child-like glee suits you."

"I love everything about this date so far. I don’t even care that I’m tied to my chair in some freaky bondage contraption or that I’ll have to watch baseball." I gave him two thumbs up. “Good job.”

"I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. Although you’re not exactly hard to please, it would seem."

I felt electric and alive and so so happy that I was a little bit afraid that I’d explode. My addiction was worse than ever, it seemed.

He leaned over to kiss the top of my head, and then groaned. I looked at him, puzzled.

"You smell so good in the rain," he explained.

"Good good, or bad good?" I asked curiously.

He sighed. "Both. Always both."

“Sorry?”

I don't know how he found his way in the gloom and downpour, but he somehow found a side road that was less of a road and more of a mountain path. For a long while conversation was impossible, because I was bouncing up and down on the seat like a jackhammer and grinning like a maniac. He seemed to enjoy the ride too, grinning just as crazily as me.

We came to the end of the road; the trees formed green walls on three sides of the Jeep. The rain was a mere drizzle, slowing every second, the sky brighter through the clouds.

"We go on foot from here," he grinned.

"I really shouldn’t be this excited about a glorified piggyback ride. It’s very unmanly of me," I admitted, still trying my damnedest not to bounce with excitement.

"Vaulting through the woods on the back of a predator while the only thing that lies between you and a messy end is your grip? Your right, that isn’t very manly at all."

"I think your description is better for my pride. Lets go with that." I was impatient. Could it have been only yesterday that we’d raced the wind through these woods? It seemed so long ago.

He was around to my side of the car in a blur. He started unbuckling me, which punctured my recently inflated pride a bit. I could feel it slowly squeaking out of me.

"I'll get those, you go on ahead," I protested, suddenly agitated.

"Beau is not pleased. Hmmm..." he mused as he quickly finished. "It seems I'm going to have to tamper with his memory."

Before I could react, or even object, he pulled me from the Jeep and set my feet on the ground. This did nothing to distract me from my anger, though the weather helped a bit in that regard. It was barely misting now; Alice was going to be right.

"Tamper with my memory?" I asked gruffly.

"A very delicate procedure." He was watching me intently, carefully, but there was humor deep in his eyes. He placed his hands against the Jeep on either side of my head and leaned forward, forcing me to press back against the door. He leaned in even closer, his face inches from mine. I had no room to escape.

"Now," he breathed, and just his smell disturbed my thought processes, "what exactly are you upset about?"

"It’s hard to find how I fit with you," I explained, glum, "in our relationship. And it throws me every time I feel like the girl, or whatever. You know what I mean. I don’t want to be that—feel like that—all the time."

Edward fought back a smile, though not a mocking one. “Finally, a simple problem.” Then he bent his head down and touched his cold lips softly to the hollow at the base of my throat. “How about, when you feel like that, you take control,” he breathed against my skin. “Make me the “girl”.”

I had a firm grip in the hair at the base of his skull, had us flipped around and him pinned to the cold damp body of the Jeep, before my brain could catch up with my electrified body. I tipped his head back and ran my lips just under his jaw, then placed a kiss, as he had just done to me, in the hollow of the base of his throat.

"Feeling better?" he whispered, shivering.

"Shhh," I instructed, tugging his hair back just a hair further to emphasize my point. I struggled to concentrate. "Be good for me."

My nose drew a line up the skin of his throat to the point of his chin, every exhale blowing back warm against my face, bringing his scent with it.

"Don’t I make you feel needy?” I asked, a hot breath. “Make you forget all your strength? Leave you weak? Wanting? Aren’t you mine?"

He tried to nod but I wouldn’t let him. My lips whispered against his jaw, my right hand wandering downward, my left still holding his copper hair firmly.

“How can you keep your control, even when I’m touching you like this?”

"I have to," he gasped. "I have to Beau, please... I can’t hurt you, I can’t—"

He didn’t take control back. I marveled at the thought that maybe he  _ couldn’t _ . Maybe he  _ wasn’t _ strong enough. Maybe I’d made him too weak for any of his strength to matter.

"And you won’t." It was a command. He surrendered what little resistance he’d been mounting.

I devoured him, crushing him to the Jeep, my mouth searching on his, my tongue staking claim. He responded, a wonderful needy groan escaping him, his body lax and yielding as mine molded to it. After a while I calmed. I felt a thrum in my chest that was almost a purr. I was content.

"I can’t hurt you." So open. Vulnerable. Breathed like a revelation—as if he was just now realizing it himself.

"No," I said, releasing him. “You can’t.”

I knew then that he’d gotten more than he bargained for. He’d been prepared for a game. Playing. I hadn’t been playing. And he hadn’t come out the winner.

"You see now?" he asked, slowly coming back to himself, his lips moving against mine. "That there are no roles between us?"

"There are plenty of roles," I sighed. “We’re a very complicated commingling.”

Then he took my face in his hands almost roughly and kissed me in earnest, repaying me, his unyielding lips moving against mine. We battled. But he tensed again, the hunger changing, and though he couldn’t hurt me, he was hurting.

He pushed me away. Gentle yet firm. Grew cold once more.

"You'll be the death of me, I swear you will."

I shook my head, sighing. It was hard to keep from going back to him, remembering his eyes when I’d held him, so wild and trusting, trusting himself—at least for a moment—because he trusted me. Now they were locked doors. I took a step back. It was fine. We had places to be. Baseball to watch.

"You're indestructible," I murmered, a bittersweet calm resting easy in my chest. Why was it like this? Why so hard?

"I might have believed that before I met you," he all but growled, still recovering.

A few silent moments later, he threw me across his back as he had before, and I could appreciate the extra effort it took for him to be as gentle as he was. I locked my legs around his waist and secured my arms in a choke hold around his neck.

"Ready?" he asked, and now he seemed excited for the freedom to unleash his full force in some way.

I nodded, feeling as if a bird was trying to flap its way from my chest. I stifled a giddy laugh.

And I could only tell that we were moving by the wind on my face. I could feel him beneath me, muscles flexing, but not the jolt of a step. He could have been strolling down the sidewalk, the movement was so smooth. I took in the scenery in greedy gasps like I had before, everything intensely green and not much else as it flew by. I listened to his breath, not really needed at all, come and go evenly.

I was so lost in it that I wasn't quite sure when we had stopped, only that at some point he reached back and carded his fingers through my hair.

"We’re here, Beau."

We were at a standstill. I felt more as if I was still on the run, my body mutinying against the stillness. I slipped to the ground, though between the conflicting feelings of movement and stillness, I ended up making an awkward acquaintance with the dirt.

"Damn!" I huffed as I hit. The ground was wet.

He stared at me incredulously, evidently not sure whether it was proper etiquette to find me funny. Apparently my bewildered expression pushed him over the edge, and he broke into a roar of laughter.

I picked myself up, ignoring him as I tried to brush the mud and bracken off the back of my jacket with little success. That only made him laugh harder. Annoyed again, I began to stride off into the forest. I was beginning to think it was another power that he had, annoying me.

I felt his arm around my waist.

"Where are you going, Beau?"

"To live in the forest. Squirrels, as a people, are far less infuriating."

"You're going the wrong way."

“To the forest?” I spun, gesturing, around.

“To the diamond.”

I turned around without looking at him, and stalked off in the opposite direction, muttering darkly. He caught me again.

"Don't be mad, I couldn't help myself. You should have seen your face." He chuckled before he could stop himself.

“I’m going to hit you with the biggest tree branch I can find." I informed him, searching the forest around me with my eyes. “It isn’t even abuse, technically, since there’s no way it’d hurt you. Would it hurt you?”

"No."

"Okay. Wait there, I’m going to find a good one."

"So violent.” He pulled me closer, holding me from behind. “I like it."

I tried to turn away from him again, but he held me fast, though gently. If my heart had been in it, he would have released me.

"You make me so angry," I told him, then relaxed into his hold. “And then you don’t even have the decency to let me stay mad at you.”

"I’m a monster," he said, and he was still half serious when he said it, as if waiting patiently for me to realize at last.

"My monster." But I was well aware. “I thought you were angry for a moment back there, when we kissed. When you stopped. I thought I’d pushed you too far again, because I’m cruel and selfish, and that you’d pull away again trying to save me, somehow. It all just gets so repetitive.”

"I wasn't mad at you. You can’t see that, Beau?" He was suddenly intense, all trace of teasing gone. "Don't you understand?"

"No?" I guessed, confused as to what I’d done to cause this sudden mood swing. Confused by his words.

"I'm never angry with you—how could I be? Brave, trusting... warm as you are."

"Then why?" I whispered, remembering the black moods that pulled him away from me, that I'd always interpreted as well-justified frustration—frustration at my weakness, my slowness, my unruly human reactions...

He put his hands carefully on both sides of my face. "I infuriate myself," he said gently. "The way I can't seem to keep from putting you in danger. My very existence puts you at risk. Sometimes I truly hate myself. I should be stronger, I should be able to—"

I placed my hand over his mouth. "Nope. No more talking for you."

He took my hand, kissing my palm before removing it from his lips, then holding it to his face.

"I love you," he said. "It's a poor excuse for what I'm doing, but it's still true."

It was the first time he'd flat out said he loved me—in so many words. He might not realize it, but I certainly did.

"Now, please don’t try to kill yourself," he continued, and he bent to softly brush his lips against mine.

I held properly still. After a little indulgence, I sighed.

"You promised Chief Swan that you would have me home early, remember? We'd better get going."

"Yes, sir."

He smiled wistfully and released all of me but one hand. He led me a few feet through the tall, wet ferns and draping moss, around a massive hemlock tree, and we were there, on the edge of an enormous open field in the lap of the Olympic peaks. It was twice the size of any baseball stadium.

I could see the others all there; Esme, Emmett, and Rosalie, sitting on a bare outcropping of rock, were the closest to us, maybe a hundred yards away. Much farther out I could see Jasper and Alice, at least a quarter of a mile apart, appearing to throw something back and forth, but I never saw any ball. It looked like Carlisle was marking bases, but could they really be that far apart?

When we came into view, the three on the rocks rose.

Esme started toward us. Emmett followed after a long look at Rosalie's back; Rosalie had risen gracefully and strode off toward the field without a glance in our direction. My stomach quivered uneasily in response.

"Was that you we heard, Edward?" Esme asked as she approached.

"It sounded like a bear choking," Emmett clarified.

I smiled at that. "Yup, that was him."

"Beau was being unintentionally funny," Edward explained, quickly settling the score.

Alice had left her position and was running, or dancing, toward us. She hurtled to a fluid stop at our feet. "It's time," she announced.

As soon as she spoke, a deep rumble of thunder shook the forest beyond us, and then crashed westward toward town.

"Eerie, isn't it?" Emmett said with easy familiarity, winking at me. I liked Emmett.

"Let's go." Alice reached for Emmett's hand and they darted toward the oversized field; she ran like a gazelle. He was nearly as graceful and just as fast—but Emmett was no gazelle.

"Are you ready?" Edward asked, his eyes eager, bright.

I tried to sound appropriately enthusiastic. "Go team!"

He snickered and, after mussing my hair, bounded off after the other two. His run was more aggressive, a cheetah rather than a gazelle, and he quickly overtook them. The grace and power took my breath away.

"Shall we go down?" Esme asked in her soft, melodic voice, and I realized I was staring openmouthed after him. I quickly reassembled my expression and nodded. Esme kept a few feet between us, and I wondered if she was still being careful not to frighten me. She matched her stride to mine without seeming impatient at the pace.

"You don't play with them?" I asked shyly.

"No, I prefer to referee—I like keeping them honest," she explained.

"They like to cheat, then?"

"Oh yes—you should hear the arguments they get into! Actually, I hope you don't, you would think they were raised by a pack of wolves."

"You sound like my mom," I laughed, surprised.

She laughed, too. "Well, I do think of them as my children in most ways. I never could get over my mothering instincts—didn’t Edward tell you I had lost a child?"

"No," I murmured, stunned, trying to think of her as human.

"Yes, my first and only baby. He died just a few days after he was born, the poor tiny thing," she sighed. "It broke my heart—that's why I jumped off the cliff, you know," she added matter-of-factly.

"Edward said you fell," I explained, unconsciously moving closer to her.

"Always the gentleman." She smiled. "Edward was the first of my new sons. I've always thought of him that way, even though he's older than I, in one way at least." She smiled at me warmly. "That's why I'm so happy that he's found you, dear." The endearment sounded very natural on her lips. "He's been the odd man out for far too long; it's hurt me to see him alone."

"You don't mind, then?" I asked, hesitant again. "That I'm... all wrong for him?"

"No." She was thoughtful. "You're what he wants. It will work out, somehow," she said, though her forehead creased with worry. Another peal of thunder began.

Esme stopped then; apparently, we'd reached the edge of the field. It looked as if they had formed teams. Edward was far out in left field, Carlisle stood between the first and second bases, and Alice held the ball, positioned on the spot that must be the pitcher's mound.

Emmett was swinging an aluminum bat; it whistled almost untraceably through the air. I waited for him to approach home plate, but then I realized, as he took his stance, that he was already there—farther from the pitcher's mound than I would have thought possible. Jasper stood several feet behind him, catching for the other team. Of course, none of them had gloves.

"All right," Esme called in a clear voice, which I knew even Edward would hear, as far out as he was. "Batter up."

Alice stood straight, deceptively motionless. Her style seemed to be stealth rather than an intimidating windup. She held the ball in both hands at her waist, and then, like the strike of a cobra, her right hand flicked out and the ball smacked into Jasper's hand.

"Was that a strike?" I whispered to Esme.

"If they don't hit it, it's a strike," she told me.

Jasper hurled the ball back to Alice's waiting hand. She permitted herself a brief grin. And then her hand spun out again.

This time the bat somehow made it around in time to smash into the invisible ball. The crack of impact was shattering, thunderous; it echoed off the mountains—I immediately understood the necessity of the thunderstorm.

The ball shot like a meteor above the field, flying deep into the surrounding forest.

"Home run," I murmured.

"Wait," Esme cautioned, listening intently, one hand raised. Emmett was a blur around the bases, Carlisle shadowing him. I realized Edward was missing.

"Out!" Esme cried in a clear voice. I stared in disbelief as Edward sprang from the fringe of the trees, ball in his upraised hand, his wide grin visible even to me.

"Emmett hits the hardest," Esme explained, "but Edward runs the fastest."

The inning continued before my incredulous eyes. It was impossible to keep up with the speed at which the ball flew, the rate at which their bodies raced around the field.

I learned the other reason they waited for a thunderstorm to play when Jasper, trying to avoid Edward's infallible fielding, hit a ground ball toward Carlisle. Carlisle ran into the ball, and then raced Jasper to first base. When they collided, the sound was like the crash of two massive falling boulders. I jumped up in concern, but they were somehow unscathed.

"Safe," Esme called in a calm voice.

Emmett's team was up by one—Rosalie managed to flit around the bases after tagging up on one of Emmett's long flies—when Edward caught the third out. He sprinted to my side, alive with excitement.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"One thing's for sure, I'll never be able to sit through dull old Major League Baseball again."

"And it sounds like you did so much of that before," he laughed.

"I am a little disappointed," I teased.

"Why?" he asked, puzzled.

"Well, it would be nice if I could find just one thing you didn't do better than everyone else on the planet."

He flashed his special crooked smile, the one that was constantly killing me.

"I'm up," he said, heading for the plate.

He played intelligently, keeping the ball low, out of the reach of Rosalie's always-ready hand in the outfield, gaining two bases like lightning before Emmett could get the ball back in play. Carlisle knocked one so far out of the field—with a boom that hurt my ears—that he and Edward both made it in. Alice slapped them dainty high fives.

The score constantly changed as the game continued, and they razzed each other like any street ballplayers as they took turns with the lead. Occasionally Esme would call them to order. The thunder rumbled on, but we stayed dry, as Alice had predicted.

Carlisle was up to bat, Edward catching, when Alice suddenly gasped. My eyes were on Edward, as usual, and I saw his head snap up to look at her. Their eyes met and something flowed between them in an instant. He was at my side before the others could ask Alice what was wrong.

"Alice?" Esme's voice was tense.

"I didn't see—I couldn't tell," she whispered.

All the others were gathered by this time.

"What is it, Alice?" Carlisle asked with the calm voice of authority.

"They were traveling much quicker than I thought. I can see I had the perspective wrong before," she murmured.

Jasper leaned over her, his posture protective. "What changed?" he asked.

"They heard us playing, and it changed their path," she said, contrite, as if she felt responsible for whatever had frightened her.

Seven pairs of quick eyes flashed to my face and away.

"How soon?" Carlisle said, turning toward Edward.

A look of intense concentration crossed his face.

"Less than five minutes. They're running—they want to play." He scowled.

"Can you make it?" Carlisle asked him, his eyes flicking toward me again.

"No, not carrying—" He cut short. "Besides, the last thing we need is for them to catch the scent and start hunting."

"How many?" Emmett asked Alice.

"Three," she answered tersely.

"Three!" he scoffed. "Let them come." The steel bands of muscle flexed along his massive arms.

For a split second that seemed much longer than it really was, Carlisle deliberated. Only Emmett seemed unperturbed; the rest stared at Carlisle's face with anxious eyes.

"Let's just continue the game," Carlisle finally decided. His voice was cool and level. "Alice said they were simply curious."

All this was said in a flurry of words that lasted only a few seconds. I had listened carefully and caught most of it, though I couldn't hear what Esme now asked Edward with a silent vibration of her lips. I only saw the slight shake of his head and the look of relief on her face.

"You catch, Esme," he said. "I'll call it now." And he planted himself in front of me.

The others returned to the field, warily sweeping the dark forest with their sharp eyes. Alice and Esme seemed to orient themselves around where I stood.

I stated the obvious. "The others are coming now."

"Yes, stay very still, keep quiet, and don't move from my side, please." He hid the stress in his voice well, but I could hear it.

"I could smell him across the field," Alice said softly.

"I know." A hint of frustration colored his tone.

Carlisle stood at the plate, and the others joined the game halfheartedly.

"What did Esme ask you?" I whispered.

He hesitated for a second before he answered. "Whether they were thirsty," he muttered unwillingly.

The seconds ticked by; the game progressed with apathy now. No one dared to hit harder than a bunt, and Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper hovered in the infield. Now and again, despite the fear that numbed my brain, I was aware of Rosalie's eyes on me. They were expressionless, but something about the way she held her mouth made me think she was angry.

Edward paid no attention to the game at all, eyes and mind ranging the forest.

"I'm sorry, Beau," he muttered fiercely. "It was stupid, irresponsible, to expose you like this. I'm so sorry."

I heard his breath stop, and his eyes zeroed in on right field. He took a half step, angling himself between me and what was coming.

Carlisle, Emmett, and the others turned in the same direction, hearing sounds of passage much too faint for my ears.


	19. The Hunt

They emerged one by one from the forest edge, ranging a dozen meters apart. The first male into the clearing fell back immediately, allowing the other male to take the front, orienting himself around the tall, dark-haired man in a manner that clearly displayed who led the pack. The third was a woman; from this distance, all I could see of her was that her hair was a startling shade of red.

They closed ranks before they continued cautiously toward Edward's family, exhibiting the natural respect of a troop of predators as it encounters a larger, unfamiliar group of its own kind. And god, why was my habit of playing the Discovery channel as background noise while cleaning suddenly so relevant?

As they approached, I could see how different they were from the Cullens. Their walk was catlike, a gait that seemed constantly on the edge of shifting into a crouch. They dressed in the ordinary gear of backpackers: durable, weatherproof clothes, but theirs were frayed with long careless wear, and they were barefoot. Both men had cropped hair, but the woman's brilliant orange hair was filled with leaves and debris from the woods.

Their sharp eyes carefully took in the more polished, urbane stance of Carlisle, who, flanked by Emmett and Jasper, stepped guardedly forward to meet them. Without any seeming communication between them, they each straightened into a more casual, erect bearing.

The man in front was easily the most beautiful, his skin olive-toned beneath the typical pallor, his hair a glossy black. He was of a medium build, hard-muscled, of course, but nothing next to Emmett's brawn. He smiled an easy smile, exposing a flash of gleaming white teeth.

The woman was wilder, her eyes shifting restlessly between the men facing her, and the loose grouping around me, her chaotic hair quivering in the slight breeze. Her posture was distinctly feline. The second male hovered unobtrusively behind them, slighter than the leader, his light brown hair and regular features both nondescript. His eyes, though completely still, somehow seemed the most vigilant.

Their eyes were different, too. Not the gold or black I had come to expect, but a deep burgundy color that was disturbing and sinister.

The dark-haired man, still smiling, stepped toward Carlisle.

"We thought we heard a game," he said in a relaxed voice with the slightest of French accents. "I'm Laurent, these are Victoria and James." He gestured to the vampires beside him.

"I'm Carlisle. This is my family, Emmett and Jasper, Rosalie, Esme and Alice, Edward and Beau." He pointed us out in groups, deliberately not calling attention to individuals. I felt a shock when he said my name.

"Do you have room for a few more players?" Laurent asked sociably.

Carlisle matched Laurent's friendly tone. "Actually, we were just finishing up. But we'd certainly be interested another time. Are you planning to stay in the area for long?"

"We're headed north, in fact, but we were curious to see who was in the neighborhood. We haven't run into any company in a long time."

"No, this region is usually empty except for us and the occasional visitor, like yourselves."

The tense atmosphere had slowly subsided into a casual conversation; I guessed that Jasper was using his peculiar gift to control the situation.

"What's your hunting range?" Laurent casually inquired.

Carlisle ignored the assumption behind the inquiry. "The Olympic Range here, up and down the Coast Ranges on occasion. We keep a permanent residence nearby. There's another permanent settlement like ours up near Denali."

Laurent rocked back on his heels slightly.

"Permanent? How do you manage that?" There was honest curiosity in his voice.

"Why don't you come back to our home with us and we can talk comfortably?" Carlisle invited. "It's a rather long story."

James and Victoria exchanged a surprised look at the mention of the word "home," but Laurent controlled his expression better.

"That sounds very interesting, and welcome." His smile was genial. "We've been on the hunt all the way down from Ontario, and we haven't had the chance to clean up in a while." His eyes moved appreciatively over Carlisle's refined appearance.

"Please don't take offense, but we'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from hunting in this immediate area. We have to stay inconspicuous, you understand," Carlisle explained.

"Of course." Laurent nodded. "We certainly won't encroach on your territory. We just ate outside of Seattle, anyway," he laughed. Like it was nothing. And I felt like I’d been dropped in a cage with a man-eating tiger. Who just ate. Who wasn’t hungry. Yet.

"We'll show you the way if you'd like to run with us—Emmett and Alice, you can go with Edward and Beau to get the Jeep," he casually added.

Three things seemed to happen simultaneously while Carlisle was speaking. My hair ruffled with the light breeze, Edward stiffened, and the second male, James, suddenly whipped his head around, scrutinizing me, his nostrils flaring.

A swift rigidity fell on all of them as James lurched one step forward into a crouch. Edward bared his teeth, crouching in defense, a feral snarl ripping from his throat.

It was nothing like the playful sounds I'd heard from him this morning; it was the single most menacing thing I had ever heard, and chills ran from the crown of my head to the back of my heels. This was a primordial warning of danger.

"What's this?" Laurent exclaimed in open surprise. Neither James nor Edward relaxed their aggressive poses. James feinted slightly to the side, and Edward shifted in response.

"He's with us." Carlisle's firm rebuff was directed toward James. Laurent seemed to catch my scent less powerfully than James, but awareness now dawned on his face.

"You brought a snack?" he asked, his expression incredulous as he took an involuntary step forward.

Edward snarled even more ferociously, his lip curling high above his glistening, bared teeth. Laurent stepped back again.

"I said he's with us," Carlisle corrected in a hard voice.

"But he's human," Laurent protested. The words were not at all aggressive, merely astounded.

"Yes." Emmett was very much in evidence at Carlisle's side, his eyes on James. James slowly straightened out of his crouch, but his eyes never left me, his nostrils still wide. Edward stayed tensed like a lion in front of me.

When Laurent spoke, his tone was soothing—trying to defuse the sudden hostility. "It appears we have a lot to learn about each other."

"Indeed." Carlisle's voice was still cool.

"But we'd like to accept your invitation." His eyes flicked toward me and back to Carlisle. "And, of course, we will not harm the human boy. We won't hunt in your range, as I said."

James glanced in disbelief and aggravation at Laurent and exchanged another brief look with Victoria, whose eyes still flickered edgily from face to face.

Carlisle measured Laurent's open expression for a moment before he spoke. "We'll show you the way. Jasper, Rosalie, Esme?" he called. They gathered together, blocking me from view as they converged. Alice was instantly at my side, and Emmett fell back slowly, his eyes locked on James as he backed toward us.

"Let's go, Beau." Edward's voice was low and bleak.

This whole time I'd been rooted in place, terrified into absolute immobility. This was what Edward had been waiting for. But I could never feel this for him. Edward had to grip my elbow and pull sharply to break my trance. Alice and Emmett were close behind us, hiding me. I stumbled alongside Edward, still stunned. I couldn't hear if the main group had left yet. Edward's impatience was almost tangible as we moved at human speed to the forest edge.

Once we were into the trees, Edward slung me over his back without breaking stride. I gripped as tightly as possible as he took off, the others close on his heels. I kept my head down, my eyes closed, trying to get myself back under control. We plunged through the now-black forest like wraiths. The sense of exhilaration that usually seemed to possess Edward as he ran was completely absent, replaced by a fury that consumed him and drove him still faster. Even with me on his back, the others trailed behind.

We reached the Jeep in an impossibly short time, not long enough to work much of a change in myself, and Edward barely slowed as he flung me in the backseat.

"Strap him in," he ordered Emmett, who slid in beside me.

Alice was already in the front seat, and Edward was starting the engine. It roared to life and we swerved backward, spinning around to face the winding road.

Edward was growling something too fast for me to understand, but it sounded a lot like a string of profanities.

The jolting trip out of the forest was horrible, where coming in had been fun, not even that long ago, The darkness only made it worse. Emmett and Alice both glared out the side windows.

We hit the main road, and though our speed increased, I could see much better where we were going. We were headed south, away from Forks.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

No one answered. No one even looked at me.

"Edward! Where the hell are you taking me?"

"We have to get you away from here—far away—now." He didn't look back, his eyes on the road. The speedometer read a hundred and five miles an hour.

"No, turn around! You have to take me home!" I shouted. I struggled with the stupid harness, tearing at the straps.

"Emmett," Edward said grimly.

And Emmett secured my hands in his steely grasp.

"Son of a bitch! Edward! No, you can't do this."

"I have to, Beau, now please be quiet."

"Fuck that! You have to take me back—Charlie will call the FBI! They'll be all over your family—Carlisle and Esme! They'll have to leave, to hide forever!"

His voice was cold. "We've been there before."

"Not over me! No! You're not ruining everything over me!" I struggled violently, with total futility.

Alice spoke for the first time. "Edward, pull over."

He flashed her a hard look, and then sped up.

"Edward, let's just talk this through."

"You don't understand," he roared in frustration. I'd never heard his voice so loud; it was deafening in the confines of the Jeep. The speedometer neared one hundred and fifteen. "He's a tracker, Alice, did you see that? He's a tracker!"

I felt Emmett stiffen next to me, and I wondered at his reaction to the word. It meant something more to the three of them than it did to me; I wanted to understand, but there was no opening for me to ask.

"Pull over, Edward." Alice's tone was reasonable, but there was a ring of authority in it I'd never heard before.

The speedometer inched passed one-twenty.

"Do it, Edward."

"Listen to me, Alice. I saw his mind. Tracking is his passion, his obsession. And he wants Beau, Alice—him, specifically. He begins the hunt tonight."

"He doesn't know where—"

He interrupted her. "How long do you think it will take him to cross Beau’s scent in town? His plan was already set before the words were out of Laurent's mouth."

I gasped, knowing where my scent would lead. "Dad! You can't leave him there! You can't leave him to die!" I thrashed against the harness.

"He's right," Alice said.

The car slowed slightly.

"Let's just look at our options for a minute," Alice coaxed.

The car slowed again, more noticeably, and then suddenly we screeched to a stop on the shoulder of the highway. I flew against the harness, and then slammed back into the seat.

"There are no options," Edward hissed.

"I'm not leaving Charlie!" I hissed right back.

He ignored me completely. Mother f—

"We have to take him back," Emmett finally spoke.

"No." Edward was absolute.

"He's no match for us, Edward. He won't be able to touch Beau."

"He'll wait."

Emmett smiled. "I can wait, too."

"You didn't see—you don't understand. Once he commits to a hunt, he's unshakable. We'd have to kill him."

Emmett didn't seem upset by the idea. "That's an option."

"And the female. She's with him. If it turns into a fight, the leader will go with them, too."

"There are enough of us."

"There's another option," Alice said quietly.

Edward turned on her in fury, his voice a blistering snarl. "There. Is. No. Other. Option!"

Emmett and I both stared at him in shock, but Alice seemed unsurprised. The silence lasted for a long minute as Edward and Alice stared each other down.

I broke it. "You do realize that I have a plan? Any takers?"

"No," Edward growled. Alice glared at him, finally provoked.

"Shut up," I pleaded. "You take me back."

"No," he interrupted.

“I said shut up.” I continued. "You take me back. I tell my dad I want to go home to Phoenix. I pack my bags. We wait till this tracker is watching, and then we run. He'll follow us and leave Charlie alone. Charlie won't call the FBI on your family. Then you can take me any damned place you want."

They stared at me, stunned.

"It's not a bad idea, really." Emmett's surprise was definitely an insult.

"It might work—and we simply can't leave his father unprotected. You know that," Alice said.

Everyone looked at Edward.

"It's too dangerous—I don't want that bastard within a hundred miles of him."

Emmett was supremely confident. "Edward, he's not getting through us."

Alice thought for a minute. "I don't see him attacking. He'll try to wait for us to leave Beau alone."

"It won't take long for him to realize that's not going to happen."

"If you talk about leaving my father to die one more time, I’ll never forgive you." My voice was full of ice shards.

Edward pressed his fingers to his temples and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Please," I said in a much smaller voice. “It’s my dad. It’s your lives.”

He didn't look up. When he spoke, his voice sounded worn.

"You're leaving tonight, whether the tracker sees or not. You tell Charlie that you can't stand another minute in Forks. Tell him whatever story works. Pack the first things your hands touch, and then get in your truck. I don't care what he says to you. You have fifteen minutes. Do you hear me? Fifteen minutes from the time you cross the doorstep."

The Jeep rumbled to life, and he spun us around, the tires squealing. The needle on the speedometer started to race up the dial.

"Emmett?" I asked, looking pointedly at my hands.

"Oh, sorry." He let me loose.

A few minutes passed in silence, other than the roar of the engine. Then Edward spoke again.

"This is how it's going to happen. When we get to the house, if the tracker is not there, I will walk him to the door. Then he has fifteen minutes." He glared at me in the rearview mirror. "Emmett, you take the outside of the house. Alice, you get the truck. I'll be inside as long as he is. After he's out, you two can take the Jeep home and tell Carlisle."

"No way," Emmett broke in. "I'm with you."

"Think it through, Emmett. I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"Until we know how far this is going to go, I'm with you."

Edward sighed. "If the tracker is there," he continued grimly, "we keep driving."

"We're going to make it there before him," Alice said confidently.

Edward seemed to accept that. Whatever his problem with Alice was, he didn't doubt her now.

"What are we going to do with the Jeep?" she asked.

His voice had a hard edge. "You're driving it home."

"No, I'm not," she said calmly.

The unintelligible stream of profanities started again.

"We can't all fit in my truck," I whispered.

Edward didn't appear to hear me.

"I think you should let me go alone," I said even more quietly.

He heard that.

"Beau, please could you do this my way, just this once?" he said between clenched teeth.

"Listen, Dad's not an idiot," I protested. "If you're not in town tomorrow, he's going to get suspicious."

"That's irrelevant. We'll make sure he's safe, and that's all that matters."

"Then what about this tracker? He saw the way you acted tonight. He's going to think you're with me, wherever you are."

Emmett looked at me, insultingly surprised again. "Edward, listen to him," he urged. "I think he's right."

"Yes, he is," Alice agreed.

"I can't do that." Edward's voice was firm, up against his limit.

"Emmett should stay, too," I continued. "He definitely got an eyeful of Emmett."

"What?" Emmett turned on me.

"You'll get a better crack at him if you stay," Alice agreed.

Edward stared at her incredulously. "You think I should let her go alone?"

"Of course not," Alice said. "Jasper and I will take her."

"I can't do that," Edward repeated, but this time there was a trace of defeat in his voice. The logic was working on him.

I tried to be persuasive. "Hang out here for a week," I saw his expression in the mirror and amended, "a few days. Let Charlie see you haven't kidnapped me, and lead this James on a wild-goose chase. Make sure he's completely off my trail. Then come and meet me. Take a roundabout route, of course, and then Jasper and Alice can go home."

I could see him beginning to consider it.

"Meet you where?"

"Phoenix." Of course.

"No. He'll hear that's where you're going," he said impatiently.

"And you'll make it look like that's a ruse, obviously. He'll know that we'll know that he's listening. He'll never believe I'm actually going where I say I am going."

"He's diabolical," Emmett chuckled.

"And if that doesn't work?"

"There are several million people in Phoenix," I informed him.

"It's not that hard to find a phone book."

"I won't go home, obviously."

"Oh?" he inquired, a dangerous note in his voice.

"I'm old enough to get my own place."

"Edward, we'll be with him," Alice reminded him.

"What are you going to do in Phoenix?" he asked her scathingly.

"Stay indoors."

"I kind of like it." Emmett was thinking about cornering James, no doubt.

"Shut up, Emmett."

"Look, if we try to take James down while Beau's still around, there's a much better chance that someone will get hurt—he'll get hurt, or you will, trying to protect him. Now, if we get James alone..." He trailed off with a slow smile. I was right.

The Jeep was crawling slowly along now as we drove into town. Despite my brave talk, I could feel the hairs on my arms standing up. I thought about Charlie, alone in the house, and suddenly could do anything.

"Beau." Edward's voice was very soft. Alice and Emmett looked out their windows. "If you let anything happen to yourself—anything at all—I'm holding you personally responsible. Do you understand that?"

"I understand," I whispered. “Love you, too.”

Edward swallowed, after a still moment he turned to Alice.

"Can Jasper handle this?"

"Give him some credit, Edward. I know you’re overprotective, but he's been doing very, very well, all things considered."

"Can you handle this?" he asked.

And graceful little Alice pulled back her lips in a horrific grimace and let loose with a guttural snarl that sent that same primordial danger signal through me.

Edward smiled at her. "But keep your opinions to yourself," he muttered suddenly.


	20. Goodbyes

Charlie was waiting up for me. All the house lights were on. My mind was dark as I realized the only thing that I could do to make him let me go. This wasn't going to be pleasant.

Edward pulled up slowly, staying well back from my truck. All three of them were acutely alert, ramrod straight in their seats, listening to every sound of the wood, looking through every shadow, catching every scent, searching for something out of place. The engine cut off, and I sat, motionless, as they continued to listen.

"He's not here," Edward said tensely. "Let's go."

Emmett reached over to help me get out of the harness.

"Don't worry, Beau," he said in a low but cheerful voice, "we'll take care of things here quickly."

I felt moisture filling up my eyes as I looked at Emmett. I barely knew him, and yet, somehow, not knowing when I would see him again after tonight hurt. I knew this was just a faint taste of the goodbyes I would have to survive in the next hour, and the thought made the tears begin to spill.

"Alice, Emmett." Edward's voice was a command. They slithered soundlessly into the darkness, instantly disappearing. Edward opened my door and took my hand, then drew me into the protecting enclosure of his arm. He walked me swiftly toward the house, eyes always roving through the night.

"Fifteen minutes," he warned under his breath.

"Got it." I sniffled. My tears would work in my favor.

I stopped on the porch and took hold of his face in my hands. I looked fiercely into his eyes.

"I love you," I said in a low, intense voice. "I will always love you, no matter what happens now."

"Nothing is going to happen to you, Beau," he said just as fiercely.

"Just follow the plan, okay? Keep Dad safe for me. He's not going to like me very much after this, and I want to have the chance to apologize later."

"Get inside, Beau. We have to hurry." His voice was urgent.

"One more thing," I whispered passionately. “don’t pay attention to anything I say once I step inside." He was leaning in, so all I had to do was the same to kiss his surprised, frozen lips with as much force as I was capable of. Then I turned and kicked the door open.

"Go away, Edward!" I yelled at him, running inside and slamming the door shut in his still-shocked face.

"Beau?" Charlie had been hovering in the living room, and he was already on his feet.

"Not now!" I yelled at him through my tears, which were flowing relentlessly now. I ran up the stairs to my room, throwing the door shut and locking it. I ran to my bed, flinging myself on the floor to retrieve my duffel bag. I reached swiftly between the mattress and box spring to grab the knotted old sock that contained my secret cash hoard.

Charlie was pounding on my door.

"Beau, are you okay? What's going on?" His voice was frightened.

"I'm going home," I shouted, my voice breaking in the perfect spot.

"Did he hurt you?" His tone edged toward anger.

"No!" I yelled, a few decibels louder. I turned to my dresser, and Edward was already there, silently yanking out armfuls of random clothes, which he proceeded to throw to me.

"Did he break up with you?" Charlie was perplexed.

"No!" I yelled, slightly more breathless as I shoved everything into the bag. Edward threw another drawer's contents at me. The bag was pretty much full now.

"What happened, Beau?" Charlie shouted through the door, pounding again.

"I broke up with him!" I shouted back, jerking on the zipper of my bag. Edward's capable hands pushed mine away and zipped it smoothly. He put the strap carefully over my arm.

"I'll be in the truck—go!" he whispered and pushed me toward the door. He vanished out the window.

I unlocked the door and pushed past Charlie roughly, struggling with my heavy bag as I ran down the stairs.

"What happened?" he yelled. He was right behind me. "I thought you liked him."

He caught my elbow in the kitchen. Though he was still bewildered, his grip was firm.

He spun me around to look at him, and I could see in his face that he had no intention of letting me leave. I had been able to think of only one way to escape. I knew it would be needed, and it involved hurting him so much that I hated myself for even considering it. But I had no time, and I had to keep him safe. I was, for the first time, glad that I was a monster.

I glared at my father, fresh tears in my eyes for what I was about to do, but doing it, nonetheless.

"I do like him—that's the problem. I can't do this anymore! I can't put down any more roots here! I don't want to end up trapped in this stupid, boring town! I'm not going to make the same stupid mistake Mom did. I hate it here—I can’t  _ stay _ here!"

His hand dropped from my arm like I'd electrocuted him. I turned away from his shocked, wounded face and headed for the door.

"Kid, you can't leave now. It's dark," he whispered behind me.

I didn't turn around. "I'll sleep in the truck if I get tired."

"Just wait another week," he pled, still shell-shocked. "Renée will be back by then."

This completely derailed me. "What?"

Charlie continued eagerly, almost babbling with relief as I hesitated. "She called while you were out. Things aren't going so well in Florida, and if Phil doesn't get signed by the end of the week, they're going back to Arizona. The assistant coach of the Sidewinders said they might have a spot for another shortstop."

I shook my head, trying to reassemble my now-confused thoughts. Every passing second put Charlie in more danger.

"I have a key," I muttered, turning the knob. He was too close, one hand extended toward me, his face dazed. I couldn't lose any more time arguing with him. I was going to have to hurt him further.

"Just let me go, Charlie." I repeated my mother's last words as she'd walked out this same door so many years ago. I said them as angrily as I could manage, and I threw the door open. "It didn't work out, okay? I really, really hate Forks!"

I looked so much like her, it must have been terrible. My cruel words did their job—Charlie stayed frozen on the doorstep, stunned, while I ran into the night. I was too exposed in the empty yard. I ran wildly for the truck, visualizing a dark shadow behind me. I threw my bag in the bed and wrenched the door open. The key was waiting in the ignition.

"I'll call when I get there!" I yelled, not able to say home, as I really should have, and wishing more than anything that I could explain everything to him right then, knowing I would never be able to. I gunned the engine and peeled out.

Edward reached for my hand.

"Pull over," he said as the house, and Charlie, disappeared behind us.

"I can drive," I said through the tears pouring down my cheeks.

His long hands unexpectedly gripped my waist, and his foot pushed mine off the gas pedal. He pulled me across his lap, wrenching my hands free of the wheel, and suddenly he was in the driver's seat. The truck didn't swerve an inch.

"You wouldn't be able to find the house," he explained.

Lights flared suddenly behind us. I stared out the back window, eyes wide with horror.

"It's just Alice," he reassured me. He took my hand again.

My mind was filled with the image of Dad in the doorway, frozen where I’d left him. "The tracker?"

"He heard the end of your performance," Edward said grimly.

"And Dad?" I asked in dread.

"The tracker followed us. He's running behind us now."

My body went cold.

"Can we outrun him?"

"No." But he sped up as he spoke. The truck's engine whined in protest.

My plan suddenly didn't feel so brilliant anymore.

I was staring back at Alice's headlights when the truck shuddered and a dark shadow sprung up outside the window.

I froze, everything stopping but my heart which sped fibrillously.

"It's Emmett. It’s just Emmett. Breathe, Beau."

He wound his arm around my waist, pulling me to him.

"It's okay," he promised. "You're going to be safe."

We raced through the quiet town toward the north highway.

"I didn't realize you were still so bored with small-town life," he said conversationally, and I knew he was trying to distract me. "It seemed like you were adjusting fairly well—especially recently. Maybe I was just flattering myself that I was making life more interesting for you."

"It was the worst thing I could have said," I confessed in a whisper, ignoring his attempt at diversion, looking down at my knees. "That was the last thing my mom said when she left him. I hurt him so much... his eyes..."

"Don't worry. He'll forgive you." He smiled a little, though it didn't touch his eyes.

“I know. That’s— It just makes it worse?” I stared at him desperately, and he saw the naked panic in my eyes.

"Beau, it's going to be alright."

I nodded. "It’s alright now. It’s bearable. But it won't be soon. Soon I’ll have to leave you," I whispered.

"We'll be together again in a few days," he said, tightening his arm around me. "Don't forget that this was your idea."

"It was the best idea,” I quipped in a strange monotone, “of course it was mine."

His answering smile was bleak and disappeared immediately.

"Why did this happen?" I asked, my voice catching. "Why me?"

He stared blackly at the road ahead. "It's my fault—I was a fool to expose you like that." The rage in his voice was directed internally.

"That's not what I meant," I insisted. "I was there, big deal. It didn't bother the other two. Why did this James decide to kill me? There're people all over the place, why me specifically?"

He hesitated, thinking before he answered.

"I got a good look at his mind tonight," he began in a low voice. "I'm not sure if there's anything I could have done to avoid this, once he saw you. It is partially your fault." His voice was wry. "If you didn't smell so appallingly luscious, he might not have bothered. But when I defended you... well, that made it a lot worse. He's not used to being thwarted, no matter how insignificant the object. He thinks of himself as a hunter and nothing else. His existence is consumed with tracking, and a challenge is all he asks of life. Suddenly we've presented him with a beautiful challenge—a large clan of strong fighters all bent on protecting the one vulnerable element. You wouldn't believe how euphoric he is now. It's his favorite game, and we've just made it his most exciting game ever." His tone was full of disgust.

He paused a moment.

"But if I had stood by, he would have killed you right then," he said with hopeless frustration.

"I thought I didn't... smell the same to the others as I do to you," I said, confused. Everything was confusing at this point.

"You don't. But that doesn't mean that you aren't still a temptation to every one of them. If you had appealed to the tracker—or any of them—the same way you appeal to me, it would have meant a fight right there."

I frowned at the thought. We had the odds, but who’s to say who would have been hurt, or worse. And all because of me. How stupid.

"I don't think I have any choice but to kill him now," he muttered. "Carlisle won't like it."

I could hear the tires cross the bridge, though I couldn't see the river in the dark. I knew we were getting close. I had to ask him now.

"Could I kill a vampire?" I asked, watching him intensely, “If I had to?”

He glanced at me with unreadable eyes and his voice was suddenly harsh. "The only way to be sure is to tear him to shreds, and then burn the pieces. I doubt you’d be up to the task. Any single human couldn’t do it."

"And the other two will fight with him?"

"The woman will. I'm not sure about Laurent. They don't have a very strong bond—he's only with them for convenience. He was embarrassed by James in the meadow..."

"But James and the woman—they'll try to kill you?" I asked, my voice raw.

"Beau, don't you dare waste time worrying about me. Your only concern is keeping yourself safe and—please—trying not to be reckless."

"Is he still following?" I diverted.

"Yes. He won't attack the house, though. Not tonight."

He turned off onto the invisible drive, with Alice following behind.

We drove right up to the house. The lights inside were bright, but they did little to alleviate the blackness of the encroaching forest. Emmett had my door open before the truck was stopped; he pulled me out of the seat, tucked me like an awkward football into his vast chest, and ran me through the door.

We burst into the large white room, Edward and Alice at our sides. All of them were there; they were already on their feet at the sound of our approach. Laurent stood in their midst. I could hear a low growl rumble deep in Emmett's throat as he set me down next to Edward.

"He's tracking us," Edward announced, glaring balefully at Laurent.

Laurent's face was unhappy. "I was afraid of that."

Alice danced to Jasper's side and whispered in his ear; her lips quivered with the speed of her silent speech. They flew up the stairs together. Rosalie watched them, and then moved quickly to Emmett's side. Her beautiful eyes were intense and—when they flickered unwillingly to my face—furious.

"What will he do?" Carlisle asked Laurent in chilling tones.

"I'm sorry," he answered. "I was afraid, when your boy there defended the human, that it would set James off."

"Can you stop him?"

Laurent shook his head. "Nothing stops James when he gets started."

"We'll stop him," Emmett promised. There was no doubt what he meant.

"If you can bring him down. I've never seen anything like him in my three hundred years. He's absolutely lethal. That's why I joined his coven."

His coven, I thought, of course. The show of leadership in the clearing was merely that, a show.

Laurent was shaking his head. He glanced at me, perplexed, and back to Carlisle. "I take it all this is worth it?"

Edward was gone from my side and being held back by Emmet all in the same moment; Laurent cringed back.

Carlisle looked gravely at Laurent. "I'm afraid you're going to have to make a choice."

Laurent understood. He deliberated for a moment. His eyes took in every face, and finally swept the bright room.

"I'm intrigued by the life you've created here. But I won't get in the middle of this. I bear none of you any enmity, but I won't go up against James. I think I will head north—to that clan in Denali." He hesitated. "Don't underestimate James. He's got a brilliant mind and unparalleled senses. He's every bit as comfortable in the human world as you seem to be, and he won't come at you head on... I'm sorry for what's been unleashed here. Truly sorry." He bowed his head, but I saw him flicker another puzzled look at me.

"Go in peace," was Carlisle's formal answer.

Laurent took another long look around himself, and then he hurried out the door.

The silence lasted less than a second.

"How close?" Carlisle looked to Edward.

Esme was already moving; her hand touched an inconspicuous keypad on the wall, and with a groan, huge metal shutters began sealing up the glass wall. I gaped.

"About three miles out past the river; he's circling around to meet up with the female."

"What's the plan?"

"We'll lead him off, and then Jasper and Alice will run Beau south."

"And then?"

Edward's tone was deadly. "As soon as Beau is clear, we hunt him."

"I guess there's no other choice," Carlisle agreed, his face grim.

Edward turned to me. "We need to trade clothes," he commanded. I stared back at him with incomprehension. Tonight was not my night for comprehension.

"Okay, but," I asked, starting to remove my shirt right there in front of everyone, too deep in shock to think my actions through. "Why?"

And suddenly I was in Edward’s arms and he was setting me down carefully in another room, full of shadows. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the light in whichever room he’d swept me off to.

"What are we doing?" I asked breathlessly once my feet were firmly planted on the floor.

"Trying to confuse the smell. It won't work for long, but it might help get you out." I could hear his clothes falling to the floor.

"This is not how I imagined our first time naked together," I blurted. He laughed, once, a bit painfully, his hands gently but quickly pulling my shirt over my head. I quickly stripped my jeans off myself, not being able to bear the strange juxtaposition that was happening in my mind. He handed me something silently; it felt like a shirt. I struggled to get my arms through the right holes. As soon as I was done he handed me his slacks. I yanked them on. Much to my surprise they fit perfectly. Somehow, Edward was already in my clothes. He pulled me back to the stairs, where Alice stood, a small leather bag in one hand. They each grabbed one of my elbows and half-carried me as they flew down the stairs.

It appeared that everything had been settled downstairs in our absence. Emmett was ready to leave, carrying a heavy-looking backpack over his shoulder, with another ready for Edward. Carlisle was handing something small to Esme. He turned and handed Alice the same thing—it was a tiny silver cell phone.

"Esme and Rosalie will be taking your truck, Beau," he told me as he passed. I nodded, glancing warily at Rosalie, who was, of course, glaring right back. She rolled her eyes and turned to glower at Carlisle with a resentful expression.

"Alice, Jasper—take the Mercedes. You'll need the dark tint in the south."

They nodded as well.

"We're taking the Jeep."

I was surprised to see that Carlisle intended to go with Edward. I realized that they made up the hunting party. I hated the thought.

"Alice," Carlisle asked, "will they take the bait?"

Everyone watched Alice as she closed her eyes and became incredibly still.

Finally her eyes opened. "He'll track you. The woman will follow the truck. We should be able to leave after that." Her voice was certain.

"Let's go." Carlisle began to walk toward the kitchen.

But Edward was at my side at once. He caught me up in his iron grip, crushing me to him. He seemed unaware of his watching family as he pulled my face to his. For the shortest second, his lips were icy and hard against mine. Then it was over. He set me down, still holding my face, his glorious eyes burning into mine.

His eyes went blank, curiously dead, as he turned away.

And he was gone.

We stood there, the others looking away from me as the tears streaked noiselessly down my face. I didn’t even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed, to try to hide them.

The silent moment dragged on, and then Esme's phone vibrated in her hand. It flashed to her ear.

"Now," she said. Rosalie stalked out the front door without another glance in my direction, but Esme touched my cheek as she passed.

"Be safe." Her whisper lingered behind them as they slipped out the door. I heard my truck start thunderously, and then fade away.

Jasper and Alice waited. Alice's phone seemed to be at her ear before it buzzed.

"Edward says the woman is on Esme's trail. I'll get the car." She vanished into the shadows the way Edward had gone.

Jasper and I looked at each other. He stood across the length of the entryway from me... being careful.

"You're wrong, you know," he said quietly.

"What?" I’d barely heard. My ears were ringing.

"I can feel what you're feeling now—and you  _ are _ worth it."

"I'm not," I mumbled. "If anything happens to them, it’ll be for nothing."

"You're wrong," he repeated, smiling sadly at me.

I shook my head, unable to keep his eye. Alice stepped through the front door and came toward me with her arms held out.

"May I?" she asked.

"You're the first to ask permission." I smiled wryly, nodding my consent.

She lifted me in her slender arms as easily as Emmett had, shielding me protectively, and then we flew out the door, leaving the lights bright behind us.


	21. Impatience

When I woke up I was confused. My thoughts were hazy, still twisted up in dreams and nightmares; it took me longer than it should have to realize where I was.

This room was too bland to belong anywhere but in a hotel. The bedside lamps, bolted to the tables, were a dead giveaway, as were the long drapes made from the same fabric as the bedspread and the generic watercolor prints on the walls.

I tried to remember how I got here, but nothing came at first.

I did remember the sleek black car, the glass in the windows darker than that on a limousine. The engine was almost silent, though we'd raced across the black freeways at more than twice the legal speed.

And I remembered Alice sitting with me on the dark leather backseat. Somehow, during the long night, my head had ended up against her granite neck. My closeness didn't seem to bother her at all, and her cool, hard skin was oddly comforting to me. The front of her thin cotton shirt was cold, damp with the tears that had streamed from my eyes until, red and sore, they ran dry. I hadn’t cried, really, just sort of leaked. I didn’t deserve the luxury of crying.

I couldn’t sleep; my aching eyes strained to remain open through the long night and even after dawn had broken over a low peak, when we were somewhere in California. The gray light, streaking across the cloudless sky, stung my eyes. But I couldn't close them; when I did, the images that flashed vivid, like still slides behind my lids, were unbearable. Charlie's broken expression—Edward's brutal snarl, teeth bared—Rosalie's resentful glare—the keen-eyed scrutiny of the tracker—the dead look in Edward's eyes after he kissed me the last time... I couldn't stand to see them. So I fought against my weariness and the sun rose higher.

I was still awake when we came through a shallow mountain pass and the sun, behind us now, reflected off the tiled rooftops of the Valley of the Sun. I didn't have enough emotion left to be surprised that we'd made a three-day journey in one. I stared blankly at the wide, flat expanse laid out in front of me. Phoenix—the palm trees, the scrubby creosote, the haphazard lines of the intersecting freeways, the green swaths of golf courses and turquoise splotches of swimming pools, all submerged in a thin smog and embraced by the short, rocky ridges that weren't really big enough to be called mountains.

Home.

The shadows of the palm trees slanted across the freeway—more defined, sharper than I remembered, but paler than they should be. Nothing could hide in these shadows. The bright, open freeway seemed benign enough. Safe. But I felt no relief here; no sense of homecoming.

"Which way to the airport, Beau?" Jasper asked, and I flinched, though his voice was soft and un-alarming and I’d really been awake too long and this was proof. It was the first sound, besides the purr of the car, to break the long night's silence.

"Stay on the I-ten," I answered automatically. "We'll pass right by it."

My brain worked slowly through the fog of sleep deprivation.

"Are we flying somewhere?" I asked Alice.

"No, but it's better to be close, just in case."

I remembered beginning the loop around Sky Harbor International... but not ending it. I suppose that must have been when I'd fallen asleep.

Though, now that I was chasing the memories down, I did have a vague impression of leaving the car—the sun was just falling behind the horizon—my arm draped over Alice's shoulder and her arm firm around my waist, dragging me along as I stumbled through the warm, dry shadows.

I had no memory of this room.

I looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. The red numbers claimed it was three o'clock, but they gave no indication if it was night or day. No edge of light escaped the thick curtains, but the room was bright with the light from the lamps.

I rose stiffly and staggered to the window, pulling back the drapes.

It was dark outside. Three in the morning, then. My room looked out on a deserted section of the freeway and the new long-term parking garage for the airport. It was a little bit comforting just to be able to pinpoint time and place.

I looked down at myself. I was still wearing Edward's clothes, and they fit too well and still smelled faintly of him. Which suddenly hurt. I looked around the room, glad when I discovered my duffel bag on top of the low dresser.

I was on my way to find new clothes when a light tap on the door made me jump.

"Can I come in?" Jasper asked.

I took a deep breath. "Sure."

He walked in and looked me over cautiously. "You look like you could sleep longer," he said.

I just shook my head.

He drifted silently to the curtains and closed them securely before turning back to me.

"We'll need to stay inside," he told me.

"Okay." My voice was hoarse; it cracked.

"Thirsty?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I'm okay.” I realized suddenly the hurry that we’d left in. Had they hunted recently? I tried to picture the meager game to be had in Phoenix and the surrounding area and felt worse for being the cause of all of this. “Are you?"

"Nothing unmanageable." He smiled. “Alice has assured me. I ordered some food for you, though. It's in the front room. Edward reminded me that you have to eat much more frequently than we do."

I was instantly more alert. "He called?"

"No," he said, and watched cautiously as my face fell. "It was before we left."

He took my hand carefully and led me through the door into the living room of the hotel suite. I could hear a low buzz of voices coming from the TV. Alice sat motionlessly at the desk in the corner, her eyes watching the news with no glimmer of interest and even a little boredom.

I sat on the floor next to the coffee table, where a tray of food waited, and began eating it mechanically without really noticing what I was putting in my mouth.

Jasper perched on the arm of the sofa and stared blankly at the TV like Alice.

I continued eating, watching him, turning now and then to glance quickly at Alice. It began to dawn on me that they were too still. They never looked away from the screen, though commercials were playing now. I pushed the tray away, my stomach abruptly uneasy. Alice looked down at me.

"What's wrong, Alice?" I asked.

"Nothing's wrong." Her eyes were wide, honest... and I didn't trust them.

"What do we do now?"

"We wait for Carlisle to call."

"And should he have called by now?" I could see that I was near the mark.

Alice's eyes flitted from mine to the phone on top of her leather bag and back.

"What does that mean?" My voice quavered, and I fought to control it. "That he hasn't called yet?"

"It just means that they don't have anything to tell us."

But her voice was too even, and the air became thinner, harder to breathe.

Jasper was suddenly alert.

"Hey now," he said in a suspiciously soothing voice. "You have nothing to worry about. You’re safe here."

"I know."

"But you’re still frightened?" he asked, probing. He might feel the tenor of my emotions, but he couldn't read the reasons behind them.

"You heard what Laurent said." My voice was just a whisper, but I was sure they could hear me. "He said James was lethal. What if something goes wrong, and they get separated? If something happens to any of them, Carlisle, Emmett... Edward..." I gulped. "If that feral bitch hurts Esme..." My voice had grown louder, a note of hysteria beginning to rise in it. "How could I live with myself when it's my fault? None of you should be risking yourselves for me—"

"Beau, hey, Beau, stop," Jasper interrupted me, his words pouring out so quickly they were hard to understand. "You're worrying about all the wrong things, alright? Trust me on this—none of us are in jeopardy. You’re under too much strain as it is; don't add to it with worries over nothing. Listen to me!" he ordered, for I had looked away. "Our family is strong. Our only fear is losing you."

"But why should you—"

Alice interrupted this time, touching my cheek with her cold fingers. "It's been almost a century that Edward's been alone. Now he's found you. You can't see the changes that we see, since we have been with him for so long. Do you think any of us want to look into his eyes for the next hundred years if he loses you?"

Jasper looked troubled, but didn’t bother elaborating, and his face quickly cleared.

My guilt slowly subsided as I looked into her dark eyes. But, as the calm spread over me, I knew it was all wrong, was of Jasper’s doing. After a bit, I didn’t really mind, though. A perk of being psychically drugged, I guess.

It was a long day.

We stayed in the room. Alice called down to the front desk and asked them to ignore our maid service for now. The windows were sealed shut, curtains firmly closed. The TV droned quietly on, though no one watched it. At regular intervals, food was delivered for me. The silver phone resting on Alice's bag seemed to grow bigger as the hours passed.

My babysitters handled the suspense better than I did. As I fidgeted and paced, they simply grew more still, two statues whose eyes followed me imperceptibly as I moved. I occupied myself with memorizing the room; the striped pattern of the couches, tan, peach, cream, dull gold, and tan again. Sometimes I stared at the abstract prints, randomly finding pictures in the shapes, like I'd found pictures in the clouds as a child. I traced a blue hand, a woman combing her hair, a cat stretching. But when a pale red circle became a staring eye, I looked away.

As the afternoon wore on, I went back to bed, simply for something to do. I hoped that by myself in the dark, I could give in to the terrible fears that hovered on the edge of my consciousness, unable to break through under Jasper's careful supervision.

But Alice followed me casually, as if by some coincidence she had grown tired of the front room at the same time. I was beginning to wonder exactly what sort of instructions Edward had given them. I lay across the bed, and she sat, legs folded, in the bed next to me. I ignored her at first, suddenly tired enough to sleep. But after a few minutes, the panic that had held off in Jasper's presence began to make itself known. I gave up on the idea of sleep quickly then, curling up into a small ball, wrapping my arms around my legs.

"Alice?" I asked.

"Yes?"

I kept my voice very calm. "What do you think they're doing?"

"Carlisle wanted to lead the tracker as far north as possible, wait for him to get close, and then turn and ambush him. Esme and Rosalie were supposed to head west as long as they could keep the female behind them. If she turned around, they were to head back to Forks and keep an eye on your dad. So I imagine things are going well if they can't call. It means the tracker is close enough that they don't want him to overhear."

"And Esme?"

"I think she must be back in Forks. She won't call if there's any chance the female will overhear. I expect they're all just being very careful."

"They're safe? Really?"

"Beau, how many times do we have to tell you that there's no danger to us?"

"I don’t know. Would you tell me if there  _ was _ danger? Would you tell me the truth?"

Jasper answered, suddenly in a chair near the bed.

"Yes. We’ll always tell you the truth." His voice was earnest.

I deliberated for a moment, and decided he meant it.

"Tell me then... how do you become a vampire?"

My question caught him off guard. He was quiet. Alice scooted up behind me and pulled me into a loose hug. It was strange being held by someone so tiny. Or at all, really, the past week or so notwithstanding. Jasper’s expression remained ambivalent.

"Edward doesn't want me to tell you that," he said firmly, but I sensed he didn't agree.

"I think, considering everything, I have a right to know."

"I know."

I looked at him, waiting.

Alice sighed icily into my hair. "He'll be extremely angry."

"It's none of his business.” I said, resting a hand on her encircling arm. “This is between us.” I held my gaze with Jasper. “Please. As a friend. Trust me." And we were friends now, somehow—as he could surely feel, as Alice must have known we would be all along.

He looked at me with his fierce, wise eyes... choosing. Finally he nodded to Alice. He wouldn’t break his deal, but he knew that Alice could get away with it. I had a feeling that she could get away with anything.

"I'll tell you the mechanics of it," she said softly, "but I don't remember it myself, and I've never done it or seen it done, so keep in mind that I can only tell you the theory."

I waited.

"As predators, we have a glut of weapons in our physical arsenal—much, much more than really necessary. The strength, the speed, the acute senses, not to mention those of us like Edward, Jasper, and I, who have extra senses as well. And then, like a carnivorous flower, we are physically attractive to our prey."

I was very still, remembering how pointedly Edward had demonstrated the same concept for me in the meadow.

She smiled a wide, ominous smile. "We have another fairly superfluous weapon. We're also venomous," she said, her teeth glistening. "The venom doesn't kill—it's merely incapacitating. It works slowly, spreading through the bloodstream, so that, once bitten, our prey is in too much physical pain to escape us. Mostly superfluous, as I said. If we're that close, the prey doesn't escape. Of course, there are always exceptions. Carlisle, for example."

"So... if the venom is left to spread..." I murmured.

"It takes a few days for the transformation to be complete, depending on how much venom is in the bloodstream, how close the venom enters to the heart. As long as the heart keeps beating, the poison spreads, healing, changing the body as it moves through it. Eventually the heart stops, and the conversion is finished. But all that time, every minute of it, a victim would be wishing for death."

I swallowed, trying to imagine the amount of pain she described.

"It's not pleasant, you see."

"Edward said that it was very hard to do... I don't quite understand," I said.

"We're also like sharks in a way. Once we taste the blood, or even smell it for that matter, it becomes very hard to keep from feeding. Sometimes impossible. So you see, to actually bite someone, to taste the blood, it would begin the frenzy. It's difficult on both sides—the blood-lust on the one hand, the awful pain on the other."

Jasper was gone from the room, a sudden gust and a softly closed door.

“I’m sorry,” I heard, muffled by the door between us.

“You would have been fine, Jasper. You really do bring out the overprotectiveness, don’t you?” She carded my hair back. I sighed at her touch, calming.

"Why do you think you don't remember?" I finally whispered, not willing to let the slight interruption end the topic.

"I don't know. For everyone else, the pain of transformation is the sharpest memory they have of their human life. I remember nothing of being human." Her voice was wistful.

“Maybe that’s good?”

My question went unanswered. We both lay silently for a while, wrapped in our individual meditations.

The seconds ticked by, and I had almost forgotten her presence, I was so enveloped in my thoughts.

Then, without any warning, Alice leaped from the bed, landing lightly on her feet. My head jerked up as I stared at her, startled.

"Something's changed." Her voice was urgent, and she wasn't talking to me anymore.

She reached the door at the same time Jasper did. He had obviously still been following our conversation and had heard her sudden exclamation. He put his hands on her shoulders and guided her back to the bed, sitting her on the edge.

"What do you see?" he asked intently, staring into her eyes. Her eyes were focused, as if on something very far away. I sat close to her, leaning in to catch her low, quick voice.

"I see a room. It's long. There are mirrors everywhere. The floor is wooden. He's in the room, and he's waiting. There's gold... a gold stripe across the mirrors."

"Where is the room?"

"I don't know. Something is missing—another decision hasn't been made yet."

"How much time?"

"It's soon. He'll be in the mirror room today, or maybe tomorrow. It all depends. He's waiting for something. And he's in the dark now."

Jasper's voice was calm, methodical, as he questioned her in a practiced way. "What is he doing?"

"He's watching TV... no, he's running a VCR, in the dark, in another place."

"Can you see where he is?"

"No, it's too dark."

"And the mirror room, what else is there?"

"Just the mirrors, and the gold. It's a band, around the room. And there's a black table with a big stereo, and a TV. He's touching the VCR there, but he doesn't watch the way he does in the dark room. This is the room where he waits." Her eyes drifted, then focused on Jasper's face.

"There's nothing else?"

She shook her head. They looked at each other, motionless.

"What does it mean?" I asked.

Neither of them answered for a moment, then Jasper looked at me.

"It means the tracker's plans have changed. He's made a decision that will lead him to the mirrored room and the dark one."

"But we don't know where those rooms are?"

"No."

"But we do know that he won't be in the mountains north of Washington, being hunted. He'll elude them." Alice's voice was bleak.

"Should we call?" I asked. They traded a serious look, undecided.

And the phone rang.

Alice was across the room before I could lift my head to look at it.

She pushed a button and held the phone to her ear, but she didn't speak first.

"Carlisle," she breathed. She didn't seem surprised or relieved, the way I felt.

"Yes," she said, glancing at me. She listened for a long moment.

"I just saw him." She described again the vision she'd seen. "Whatever made him get on that plane... it was leading him to those rooms." She paused. "Yes," Alice said into the phone, and then she spoke to me. "Beau?"

She held the phone out toward me. I ran to it.

"Hello?" I breathed.

"Beau," Edward said.

"Edward,” I breathed, a hoarse gush of air. “Jesus, took you long enough."

He sighed in frustration, "I told you not to worry about anything but yourself." It was so unbelievably good to hear his voice. I felt the hovering cloud of despair lighten and drift back as he spoke.

"Yeah, and that was totally going to happen. Where are you?"

"We're outside of Vancouver. Beau, I'm sorry—we lost him. He seems suspicious of us—he changed his tactics, gauging the distance to stay just far enough away that I couldn't hear what he was thinking. But he's gone now—it looks like he got on a plane. We think he's heading back to Forks to start over." I could hear Alice filling in Jasper behind me, her quick words blurring together into a humming noise.

"I know. Alice saw that he got away."

"You don't have to worry, though. He won't find anything to lead him to you. You just have to stay there and wait till we find him again."

"I'll be fine. Is Esme with Charlie?"

"Yes—the female has been in town. She went to the house, but while Charlie was at work. She hasn't gone near him, so don't be afraid. He's safe with Esme and Rosalie watching."

"What is she doing?"

"Probably trying to pick up the trail. She's been all through the town during the night. Rosalie traced her through the airport, all the roads around town, the school... she's digging, Beau, but there's nothing to find."

"And you're sure Charlie's safe?"

"Yes, Esme won't let him out of her sight. And we'll be there soon. If the tracker gets anywhere near Forks, we'll have him."

"I miss you," I whispered.

"I know. Believe me, I know. It's like you've taken half my self away with you."

"Corny old man,” I breathed out in a laugh, giddy with relief to be talking like this. “Come and get it back, then."

"Soon,” Edward said, and I could hear his smile in the word. “As soon as I possibly can. I  _ will _ make you safe first." Now his voice was hard, serious. 

I swallowed down the lump blocking my throat. Waited till I could speak again. Something about how quickly the smile I’d given him had died….

"I love you," I reminded him, my voice just as serious as his.

"Could you believe that, despite everything I've put you through, I love you, too?"

"Yes, I can, actually, even despite everything that I’ve put you through. You’re a good man, Edward Cullen."

"I'll come for you soon."

"Okay.” I closed my eyes. “Waiting for you."

As soon as the phone went dead, the cloud of depression began to creep over me again. Damn.

I turned to give the phone back to Alice and found her and Jasper bent over the table, where Alice was sketching on a piece of hotel stationery. I leaned on the back of the couch, looking over her shoulder.

She drew a room: long, rectangular, with a thinner, square section at the back. The wooden planks that made up the floor stretched lengthwise across the room. Down the walls were lines denoting the breaks in the mirrors. And then, wrapping around the walls, waist high, a long band. The band Alice said was gold.

"It's a ballet studio," I said, suddenly recognizing the familiar shapes.

They looked at me, surprised.

"Do you know this room?" Jasper's voice sounded calm, but there was an undercurrent of something I couldn't identify. Alice bent her head to her work, her hand flying across the page now, the shape of an emergency exit taking shape against the back wall, the stereo and TV on a low table by the front right corner.

"It looks like a place my mom tried to take me to for dance lessons—when I was eight or nine. It was shaped just the same." I touched the page where the square section jutted out, narrowing the back part of the room. "That's where the bathrooms were—the doors were through the other dance floor. But the stereo was here," I pointed to the left corner, "it was older, and there wasn't a TV. There was a window in the waiting room—you would see the room from this perspective if you looked through it."

Alice and Jasper were staring at me.

"Are you sure it's the same room?" Jasper asked, still calm.

"No, not even a little—I guess most dance studios would look the same—the mirrors, the bar." I traced my finger along the ballet bar set against the mirrors. "It's just the shape that looked familiar." I touched the door, set in exactly the same place as the one I remembered.

"Would you have any reason to go there now?" Alice asked, breaking my reverie.

"No, I haven't been there in almost ten years. I was terrible, and embarrassed that my mom had signed me up for ballet—they put me in the back for the one recital I was in, even though they hardly had any boys in the class," I admitted.

"So there's no way it could be connected with you?" Alice asked intently.

"No, I don't even think the same person owns it. I'm sure it's just another dance studio, somewhere."

"Where was the studio you went to?" Jasper asked in a casual voice.

"It was just around the corner from my mom's house. I used to walk there after school..." I said, my voice trailing off. I didn't miss the look they exchanged.

"Here in Phoenix, then?" His voice was still casual.

"Yes," I whispered. "Fifty-eighth Street and Cactus."

We all sat in silence, staring at the drawing.

"Alice, is that phone safe?"

"Yes," she reassured me. "The number would just trace back to Washington."

"Then I can use it to call my mom."

"I thought she was in Florida."

"She is—but she's coming home soon, and she can't come back to that house while..." My voice trembled. I was thinking about something Edward had said, about the red-haired female at Charlie's house, at the school, where my records would be.

"How will you reach her?"

"They don't have a permanent number except at the house—she's supposed to check her messages regularly."

"Jasper?" Alice asked.

He thought about it. "I don't think there's any way it could hurt—be sure you don't say where you are, of course."

“Yeah duh,” I responded in monotone, rolling my eyes. 

Jasper raised an eyebrow and held the phone out to me. I reached for it eagerly and dialed the familiar number. It rang four times, and then I heard my mom's breezy voice telling me to leave a message.

"Mom," I said after the beep, "it's me. Listen, I need you to do something. It's important. As soon as you get this message, call me at this number." Alice was already at my side, writing the number for me on the bottom of her picture. I read it carefully, twice. "Please don't go anywhere until you talk to me. Don't worry, I'm okay, but I have to talk to you right away, no matter how late you get this call, all right? I love you, Mom. Bye." I closed my eyes and prayed with all my might that no unforeseen change of plans would bring her home before she got my message.

I settled into the sofa, nibbling on a plate of leftover fruit, anticipating a long evening. I thought about calling Charlie, but I wasn't sure if I should be home by now or not. I concentrated on the news, watching out for stories about Florida, or about spring training—strikes or hurricanes or terrorist attacks—anything that might send them home early.

Immortality must grant endless patience. Neither Jasper nor Alice seemed to feel the need to do anything at all. For a while, Alice sketched the vague outline of the dark room from her vision, as much as she could see in the light from the TV. But when she was done, she simply sat, looking at the blank walls with her timeless eyes. Jasper, too, seemed to have no urge to pace, or peek through the curtains, or run screaming out the door, the way I did.

I must have fallen asleep on the couch, waiting for the phone to ring again. The touch of Alice's cold hands woke me briefly as she carried me to the bed, but I was unconscious again before my head hit the pillow.


	22. Phone Call

I could feel it was too early again when I woke, and I knew I was getting the schedule of my days and nights slowly reversed. I lay in my bed and listened to the quiet voices of Alice and Jasper in the other room. That they were loud enough for me to hear at all was strange. I rolled till my feet touched the floor and then staggered to the living room.

The clock on the TV said it was just after two in the morning. Alice and Jasper were sitting together on the sofa, Alice sketching again while Jasper looked over her shoulder. They didn't look up when I entered, too engrossed in Alice's work.

I crept to Jasper's side to peek.

"Did she see something more?" I asked him quietly.

"Yes. Something's brought him back to the room with the VCR, but it's light now."

I watched as Alice drew a square room with dark beams across its low ceiling. The walls were paneled in wood, a little too dark, out of date. The floor had a dark carpet with a pattern in it. There was a large window against the south wall, and an opening through the west wall led to the living room. One side of that entrance was stone—a large tan stone fireplace that was open to both rooms. The focus of the room from this perspective, the TV and VCR balanced on a too-small wooden stand, were in the southwest corner of the room. An aged sectional sofa curved around in front of the TV, a round coffee table in front of it.

"The phone goes there," I whispered, pointing.

Two pairs of eternal eyes stared at me.

"That's my mom's house."

Alice was already off the couch, phone in hand, dialing. I stared at the precise rendering of my mother's family room. Uncharacteristically, Jasper slid closer to me. He lightly touched his hand to my shoulder, and the physical contact seemed to make his calming influence stronger. The panic stayed dull, unfocused.

Alice's lips were trembling with the speed of her words, the quiet buzzing impossible to decipher. I couldn't concentrate.

"Beau," Alice said. I looked at her numbly.

"Beau, Edward is coming to get you. He and Emmett and Carlisle are going to take you somewhere, to hide you for a while."

"Edward is coming?" The words were like a life vest, holding my head above the flood.

"Yes, he's catching the first flight out of Seattle. We'll meet him at the airport, and you'll leave with him."

"But, my mom... he came here for my mom, Alice!" Despite Jasper, the hysteria bubbled up in my voice.

"Jasper and I will stay till she's safe."

"I can't win, Alice. You can't guard everyone I know forever. Don't you see what he's doing? He's not tracking me at all. He'll find someone, he'll hurt someone I love... Alice, I can't—"

"We'll catch him, Beau," she assured me.

"And what if you get hurt, Alice? Do you think that's okay with me? Do you think it's only my human family he can hurt me with?"

Alice looked meaningfully at Jasper. A deep, heavy fog of lethargy washed over me, and my eyes closed without my permission. My mind struggled against the fog, realizing what was happening. I forced my eyes open and stood up, stepping away from Jasper's hand.

"I don't want to go back to sleep," I snapped.

I walked to my room and shut the door, slammed it really, so I could be free to go to pieces privately. This time Alice didn't follow me. For three and a half hours I stared at the wall, curled in a ball, rocking. My mind went around in circles, trying to come up with some way out of this nightmare. There was no escape, no reprieve. I could see only one possible end looming darkly in my future. The only question was how many other people would be hurt before I reached it.

The only solace, the only hope I had left, was knowing that I would see Edward soon. Maybe, if I could just see his face again, I would also be able to see the solution that eluded me now.

When the phone rang, I returned to the front room, a little ashamed of my behavior. I hoped I hadn't offended either of them, that they would know how grateful I was for the sacrifices they were making on my account.

Alice was talking as rapidly as ever, but what caught my attention was that, for the first time, Jasper was not in the room. I looked at the clock—it was five-thirty in the morning.

"They're just boarding their plane," Alice told me. "They'll land at nine-forty-five." Just a few more hours to keep breathing till he was here.

"Where's Jasper?"

"He went to check out."

"You aren't staying here?"

"No, we're relocating closer to your mother's house."

My stomach twisted uneasily at her words.

But the phone rang again, distracting me. She looked surprised, but I was already walking forward, reaching hopefully for the phone.

"Hello?" Alice asked. "No, he's right here." She held the phone out to me. _Your mother_ , she mouthed.

"Hello?"

"Beau? Beau?" It was my mother's voice, in a familiar tone I had heard a thousand times in my childhood, anytime I'd gotten too close to the edge of the sidewalk or strayed out of her sight in a crowded place. It was the sound of panic.

I sighed. I'd been expecting this, though I'd tried to make my message as unalarming as possible without lessening the urgency of it.

"Calm down, Mom," I said in my most soothing voice, walking slowly away from Alice. I wasn't sure if I could lie as convincingly with her eyes on me. "Everything is fine, okay? Just give me a minute and I'll explain everything, I promise."

I paused, surprised that she hadn't interrupted me yet.

"Mom?"

"Be very careful not to say anything until I tell you to." The voice I heard now was as unfamiliar as it was unexpected. It was a man's tenor voice, a very pleasant, somewhat generic voice—the kind of voice that you heard in the background of luxury car commercials. He spoke very quickly.

"Now, I don't need to hurt your mother, so please do exactly as I say and she'll be fine." He paused for a minute while I listened in mute fury. "That's very good," he congratulated. "Now repeat after me, and do try to sound natural. Please say, 'No, Mom, stay where you are.'"

"No, Mom, stay where you are." My voice was strained and barely more than a whisper.

"I can see this is going to be difficult." The voice was amused, still light and friendly. "Why don't you walk into another room now so your face doesn't ruin everything? There's no reason for your mother to suffer. As you're walking, please say, 'Mom, please listen to me.' Say it now."

"Mom, please listen to me," my voice pleaded. I walked very slowly to the bedroom, feeling Alice's worried stare on my back. I shut the door behind me, trying to think clearly through the terror and anger and helplessness that gripped my brain.

"There now, are you alone? Just answer yes or no."

"Yes."

"But they can still hear you, I'm sure."

"Right."

"All right, then," the agreeable voice continued, "say, 'Mom, trust me.'"

"Mom, trust me."

"This worked out rather better than I expected. I was prepared to wait, but your mother arrived ahead of schedule. It's easier this way, isn't it? Less suspense, less anxiety for you."

I waited.

"Now I want you to listen very carefully. I'm going to need you to get away from your friends; do you think you can do that? Answer yes or no."

"No."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I was hoping you would be a little more creative than that. Do you think you could get away from them if your mother's life depended on it? Answer yes or no."

Somehow, there had to be a way. I remembered that we were going to the airport. Sky Harbor International Airport: crowded, confusingly laid out...

"Yes."

"That's better. I'm sure it won't be easy, but if I get the slightest hint that you have any company, well, that would be very bad for your mother," the friendly voice promised. "You must know enough about us by now to realize how quickly I would know if you tried to bring anyone along with you. And how little time I would need to deal with your mother if that was the case. Do you understand? Answer yes or no."

"Yes." My voice broke.

"Very good, Beau.” My name slipped out like a mockery. “Now this is what you have to do. I want you to go to your mother's house. Next to the phone there will be a number. Call it, and I'll tell you where to go from there." I already knew where I would go, and where this would end. But I would follow his instructions exactly. "Can you do that? Answer yes or no."

"Yes."

"Before noon, please, Beau. I haven't got all day," he said politely.

"Where's Phil?" I asked tersely.

"Ah, be careful now, Beau. Wait until I ask you to speak, please."

I waited.

"It's important, now, that you don't make your friends suspicious when you go back to them. Tell them that your mother called, and that you talked her out of coming home for the time being. Now repeat after me, 'Thank you, Mom.' Say it now."

"Thank you, Mom." The tears were coming. I tried to fight them back.

"Say, 'I love you, Mom, I'll see you soon.' Say it now."

"I love you, Mom." My voice was thick and came through gritted teeth. "I'll see you soon," I promised.

"Goodbye, Beau. I look forward to seeing you again." He hung up.

The phone remained pressed to my ear. My joints were frozen with fury—I couldn't unbend my fingers to drop it. I was afraid I’d break it.

I knew I had to think, but my head was filled with the sound of my mother's panic. Seconds ticked by while I fought for control.

Slowly, slowly, my thoughts started to break past that brick wall of pain. Plan. I had to come up with some kind of plan to get away. I had no choices now and only one objective: to go to the mirrored room and die. I had no guarantees, nothing to give to keep my mother alive. I could only hope that James would be satisfied with winning the game; that beating Edward would be enough. Despair gripped me; there was no way to bargain, nothing I could offer or withhold that could influence him. There were still no... no choices. No other paths. I had to do this one last thing.

I pushed the terror back as well as I could. My decision was made. It did no good to waste time agonizing over the outcome. I had to think clearly, because Alice and Jasper were waiting for me, and evading them was absolutely essential and absolutely impossible.

I was suddenly grateful that Jasper was gone. If he had been here to feel my anguish in the last five minutes, how could I have kept them from being suspicious? I choked back the dread, the anxiety, tried to stifle it. I couldn't afford it now. I didn't know when he would return.

I concentrated on my escape. I had to hope that my familiarity with the airport would turn the odds in my favor. Somehow, I had to keep Alice away...

I knew Alice was in the other room waiting for me, curious. But I had to deal with one more thing in private, before Jasper was back.

I had to accept that I wouldn't see Edward again, not even one last glimpse of his face to carry with me to the mirror room. I was going to hurt him, and I couldn't say goodbye. I let the waves of torture wash over me, have their way for a time. Then I pushed them back, too, and went to face Alice.

The only expression I could manage was a dull, dead look. I saw her alarm and I didn't wait for her to ask. I had just one script and I'd never manage improvisation now.

"My mom was worried, she wanted to come home. But it's okay, I convinced her to stay away." My voice was lifeless.

"We'll make sure she's fine, Beau, don't worry."

I turned away; I couldn't let her see my face.

My eye fell on a blank page of the hotel stationery on the desk. I went to it slowly, a plan forming. There was an envelope there, too. That was good.

"Alice," I asked slowly, without turning, keeping my voice level. "If I write a letter for my mother, would you give it to her? Leave it at the house, I mean."

"Sure, Beau." Her voice was careful. She could see me coming apart at the seams. I had to keep my emotions under better control.

I went into the bedroom again and knelt next to the little bedside table to write.

 _Edward,_ I wrote. My hand was shaking, the letters were hardly legible.

_I love you. And I’m so sorry. He has my mom, and I have to try. I know it may not work. I am so, so sorry._

_Don't be angry with Alice and Jasper. If I get away from them it’ll be a miracle. Tell them thank you for me. Tell them both._

_And please, please, don't come after him. That's what he wants, I think. I can't have anyone hurt because of me, especially you. Please. This is the only thing I can ask you now. Just do it for me._

_I love you._ ~~_Forgive me_~~ _._

_Beau_

I folded the letter carefully and sealed it in the envelope. Eventually he would find it. I only hoped he would understand and listen to me just this once.

And then I carefully sealed away my heart.


	23. Hide-and-Seek

It had taken much less time than I'd thought—all the terror, the despair, the shattering of my heart. The minutes were ticking by more slowly than usual. Jasper still hadn't come back when I returned to Alice. I was afraid to be in the same room with her, afraid that she would guess... and afraid to hide from her for the same reason.

I would have thought I was far beyond the ability to be surprised, my thoughts tortured and unstable, but I was surprised when I saw Alice bent over the desk, gripping the edge with two hands.

"Alice?"

She didn't react when I called her name, but her head was slowly rocking side to side, and I saw her face. Her eyes were blank, dazed... My thoughts flew to my mother. Was I already too late?

I hurried to her side, reaching out automatically to touch her hand.

"Alice!" Jasper's voice whipped, and then he was right behind her, his hands curling over hers, loosening them from their grip on the table. Across the room, the door swung shut with a low click.

"What is it?" he demanded.

She turned her face away from me, into his chest. "Beau," she said.

I stayed silent. Watching.

Her head twisted around, her eyes locking on mine, their expression still strangely blank.

"What did you see." I said—and there was no question in my flat, uncaring voice.

Jasper looked at me sharply. I kept my expression vacant and waited. His eyes were confused as they flickered swiftly between Alice's face and mine, feeling the chaos there most likely... I could guess what Alice had seen.

I felt a tranquil atmosphere settle around me. I welcomed it, using it to keep my emotions disciplined, under control.

Alice, too, recovered herself.

"Nothing, really," she answered finally, her voice remarkably calm and convincing. "Just the same room as before."

She finally looked at me, her expression smooth and withdrawn. "Did you want breakfast?"

"No, I'll eat at the airport." I was very calm, too. I went to the bathroom to shower. Almost as if I were borrowing Jasper's strange extra sense, I could feel Alice's wild—though well-concealed—desperation to have me out of the room, to be alone with Jasper. So she could tell him that they were doing something wrong, that they were going to fail...

I got ready methodically, concentrating on each little task. I left my hair wild, not like it mattered what it looked like. The peaceful mood Jasper created worked its way through me and helped me think clearly. Helped me plan. I dug through my bag until I found my sock full of money. I emptied it into my pocket.

I was anxious to get to the airport, and glad when we left by seven. I sat alone this time in the back of the dark car. Alice leaned against the door, her face toward Jasper but, behind her sunglasses, shooting glances in my direction every few seconds.

"Alice?" I asked indifferently.

She was wary. "Yes?"

"How does it work? The things that you see?" I stared out the side window, and my voice sounded bored. "Edward said it wasn't definite... that things change?" It was harder than I would have thought to say his name. That must have been what alerted Jasper, why a fresh wave of serenity filled the car.

"Yes, things change..." she murmured—hopefully, I thought. "Some things are more certain than others... like the weather. People are harder. I only see the course they're on while they're on it. Once they change their minds—make a new decision, no matter how small—the whole future shifts."

I nodded thoughtfully. "So you couldn't see James in Phoenix until he decided to come here."

"Yes," she agreed, wary again.

And she hadn't seen me in the mirror room with James until I'd made the decision to meet him there. I tried not to think about what else she might have seen. I didn't want my panic to make Jasper more suspicious. They would be watching me twice as carefully now, anyway, after Alice's vision. This was going to be impossible.

We got to the airport. Luck was with me, or maybe it was just good odds. Edward's plane was landing in terminal four—most flights landed there, it wasn't that surprising that his was. But it was lucky because terminal four was the terminal I needed: the biggest, the most confusing. And there was a door on level three that might be the only chance.

We parked on the fourth floor of the huge garage. I led the way, for once more knowledgeable about my surroundings than they were. We took the elevator down to level three, where the passengers unloaded. Alice and Jasper spent a long time looking at the departing flights board. I could hear them discussing the pros and cons of New York, Atlanta, Chicago. Places I'd never seen and would never see.

I waited for my opportunity, impatient, unable to stop fidgeting, but since I was supposed to be anxious to see Edward, it didn’t really matter. We sat in the long rows of chairs by the metal detectors, Jasper and Alice pretending to people-watch but really watching me. Every inch I shifted in my seat was followed by a quick glance out of the corner of their eyes. It was hopeless. Should I run? Would they dare to stop me physically in this public place? Or would they simply follow?

I pulled the unmarked envelope out of my pocket and set it on top of Alice's black leather bag. She looked at me.

"My letter," I said. She nodded, tucking it under the top flap. He would find it soon enough.

The minutes passed and Edward's arrival grew closer. It was amazing how every cell in my body seemed to know he was coming, to long for his coming. That made it very hard. I found myself trying to think of excuses to stay, to see him first and then make my escape. But I knew that was impossible if I was going to have any chance to get away.

Several times Alice offered to go get breakfast with me. Later, I told her, not yet.

I stared at the arrival board, watching as flight after flight arrived on time. The flight from Seattle crept closer to the top of the board.

And then, when I had only thirty minutes to make my escape, the numbers changed. His plane was ten minutes early. I had no more time.

"I think I'll eat now," I said quickly.

Alice stood. "I'll come with you."

"Yeah," I nodded, glad that she had volunteered. "Okay." I needed it to be her that tagged along, if my plan was to have any chance of success.

Jasper stood up to see us off, and seeing my wild eyes, almost said something. I gave him a small smile, waving him, and his emotional support, off. He was confused, but—I saw to my relief—not suspicious. Alice must have attributed the change in her vision to some maneuver of the tracker's, rather than a betrayal by me.

Alice walked smoothly beside me, her arm in mine, as if I were the one steadying her. I pretended a lack of interest in the first few airport cafes, my head scanning for what I really wanted. And there it was, around the corner, out of Jasper's sharp sight: the level-three men’s room.

"Do you mind?" I asked Alice as we passed. "I'll just be a second."

"I'll be right here," she said.

As soon as the door shut behind me, I was running. I remembered the time I had gotten lost from this bathroom, because it had two exits.

Outside the far door it was only a short sprint to the elevators, and if Alice stayed where she said she would, I'd never be in her line of sight. I didn't look behind me as I ran. This was my only chance, and even if she saw me, I had to keep going. People stared, but I ignored them. Around the corner the elevators were waiting, and I dashed forward, throwing my hand between the closing doors of a full elevator headed down. I squeezed in beside the irritated passengers and checked to make sure that the button for level one had been pushed. It was already lit, and the doors closed.

As soon as the door opened I was off again, to the sound of annoyed murmurs behind me. I slowed myself as I passed the security guards by the luggage carousels, only to break into a run again as the exit doors came into view. I had no way of knowing if Alice was looking for me yet.

I would have only seconds if she was following my scent. I jumped out the automatic doors, nearly smacking into the glass when they opened too slowly.

Along the crowded curb there wasn't a cab in sight.

I had no time. Alice and Jasper were either about to realize I was gone, or they already had. They would find me in a heartbeat.

A shuttle to the Hyatt was just closing its doors a few feet behind me.

"Wait!" I called, running, waving at the driver.

"This is the shuttle to the Hyatt," the driver said in confusion as he opened the doors.

"Yes," I huffed, "that's where I'm going." I hurried up the steps.

He looked askance at my luggage-less state, but then shrugged, not caring enough to ask.

Most of the seats were empty. I sat as far from the other travelers as possible, and watched out the window as first the sidewalk, and then the airport, drifted away. I couldn't help imagining Edward, where he would stand at the edge of the road when he found the end of my trail. I couldn't cry, I told myself. I had a long way to go.

My luck held. In front of the Hyatt, a tired-looking couple was getting their last suitcase out of the trunk of a cab. I jumped out of the shuttle and ran to the cab, sliding into the seat behind the driver. The tired couple and the shuttle driver stared at me.

I told the surprised cabbie my mother's address. "I need to get there as soon as possible."

"That's in Scottsdale," he complained.

I threw four twenties over the seat.

"Will that be enough?"

"Sure, kid, no problem."

I sat back against the seat, folding my arms across my lap. The familiar city began to rush around me, but I didn't look out the windows. I exerted myself to maintain control. I was determined not to lose myself at this point, now that my plan was successfully completed. There was no point in indulging in more terror, more anxiety, not even the anger was useful to me now. My path was set. I just had to follow it.

So, instead of panicking, I closed my eyes and spent the twenty minutes' drive with Edward.

I imagined that I had stayed at the airport to meet Edward. I visualized how I would stand on my toes, the sooner to see his face. How quickly, how gracefully he would move through the crowds of people separating us. And then I would run to close those last few feet between us—reckless as always—and we would be together, wrapped up in each other, and we would be safe.

I wondered where we would have gone. North somewhere, so he could be outside in the day. Or maybe somewhere very remote, so we could lay in the sun together again. I imagined him by the shore, his skin sparkling like the sea. It wouldn't matter how long we had to hide. To be trapped in a hotel room with him would be a kind of heaven. So many questions I still had for him. I could talk to him forever, in my imaginings never sleeping, never leaving his side.

I could see his face so clearly now... almost hear his voice. And, despite all the horror and hopelessness, I was fleetingly happy. So involved was I in my escapist daydreams, I lost all track of the seconds racing by.

"Hey, what was the number?"

The cabbie's question punctured my fantasy, letting all the colors run out of my lovely delusions. Fear, bleak and hard, was waiting to fill the empty space they left behind.

"Fifty-eight twenty-one." My voice sounded strangled. The cabbie looked at me, nervous that I was having an episode or something.

"Here we are, then." He was anxious to get me out of his car, probably hoping I wouldn't ask for my change.

"Thank you," I whispered. There was no need to be afraid, I reminded myself. The house was empty. I had to hurry; my mom was waiting for me, frightened, depending on me.

I ran to the door, reaching up automatically to grab the key under the eave. I unlocked the door. It was dark inside, empty, normal. I ran to the phone, turning on the kitchen light on my way. There, on the whiteboard, was a ten-digit number written in a small, neat hand. My fingers stumbled over the keypad, making mistakes. I had to hang up and start again. I concentrated only on the buttons this time, carefully pressing each one in turn. I was successful. I held the phone to my ear with a shaking hand. It rang only once.

"Hello, Beau," that easy voice answered. "That was very quick. I'm impressed."

"Is my mom all right?"

"She's perfectly fine. Don't worry, I have no quarrel with her. Unless you didn't come alone, of course." Light, amused.

"I'm alone." I'd never been more alone in my entire life.

"Very good. Now, do you know the ballet studio just around the corner from your home?"

"Yeah. I know how to get there."

"Well, then, I'll see you very soon."

I hung up.

I ran from the room, through the door, out into the baking heat.

There was no time to look back at my house, and I didn't want to see it as it was now—empty, a symbol of fear instead of sanctuary. The last person to walk through those familiar rooms was my future murderer.

From the corner of my eye, I could almost see my mother standing in the shade of the big eucalyptus tree where I'd played as a child. Or kneeling by the little plot of dirt around the mailbox, the cemetery of all the flowers she'd tried to grow. The memories were better than any reality I would see today. But I raced away from them, toward the corner, leaving everything behind me.

I felt so slow, like I was running through loose sand—I couldn't seem to get enough purchase from the concrete. I tripped several times, once falling, catching myself with my hands, scraping them on the sidewalk, and then lurching up to plunge forward again. But at last I made it to the corner. Just another street now; I ran, sweat pouring down my face, gasping. The sun was hot on my skin, too bright as it bounced off the white concrete and blinded me. I felt dangerously exposed. More fiercely than I would have dreamed I was capable of, I wished for the green, protective forests of Forks... of home.

When I rounded the last corner, onto Cactus, I could see the studio, looking just as I remembered it. The parking lot in front was empty, the vertical blinds in all the windows drawn. I couldn't run anymore—I couldn't breathe; exertion and fear had gotten the best of me. I thought of my mother to keep my feet moving, one in front of the other.

As I got closer, I could see the sign inside the door. It was handwritten on hot pink paper; it said the dance studio was closed for spring break. I touched the handle, tugged on it cautiously. It was unlocked. I fought to catch my breath and opened the door.

The lobby was dark and empty, cool, the air conditioner thrumming. The plastic molded chairs were stacked along the walls, and the carpet smelled like shampoo. The west dance floor was dark, I could see through the open viewing window. The east dance floor, the bigger room, was lit. But the blinds were closed on the window.

Terror seized me so strongly that I was literally trapped by it. I couldn't make my feet move forward.

And then my mother's voice called.

"Beau? Beau?" That same tone of hysterical panic. I sprinted to the door, to the sound of her voice.

"Beau, you scared me! Don't you ever do that to me again!" Her voice continued as I ran into the long, high-ceilinged room.

What? I stared around me, trying to find where her voice was coming from. I heard her laugh, and I whirled to the sound.

There she was, on the TV screen, tousling my hair in relief. It was Thanksgiving, and I was twelve. We'd gone to see my grandmother in California, the last year before she died. We went to the beach one day, and I'd leaned too far over the edge of the pier. She'd seen my feet flailing, trying to reclaim my balance. "Beau? Beau?" she'd called to me in fear.

The TV screen went blue.

I turned slowly. He was standing very still by the back exit, so still I hadn't noticed him at first. In his hand was a remote control. We stared at each other for a long moment, and then he smiled.

He walked toward me, quite close, and then passed me to put the remote down next to the VCR. I turned carefully to watch him.

"Sorry about that, Beau. But isn't it better that your mother didn't really have to be involved in all this?" His voice was courteous, kind.

And suddenly it hit me. My mother was safe. She was still in Florida. She'd never gotten my message. She'd never been terrified by the dark red eyes in the abnormally pale face before me. She was safe.

"Yes," I answered, my voice saturated with relief.

"You don't sound angry that I tricked you."

"I'm not." My sudden high made me brave. What did it matter now? It would soon be over. Dad and Mom would never be harmed, would never have to fear. I felt almost giddy. Some analytical part of my mind warned me that I was dangerously close to snapping from the stress.

"How odd. You really mean it." His dark eyes assessed me with interest. The irises were nearly black, just a hint of ruby around the edges. Thirsty. "I will give your strange coven this much, you humans can be quite interesting. I guess I can see the draw of observing you. It's amazing—some of you seem to have no sense of your own self-interest at all."

He was standing a few feet away from me, arms folded, looking at me curiously. There was no menace in his face or stance. He was so very average-looking, nothing remarkable about his face or body at all. Just the white skin, the circled eyes I'd grown so used to. He wore a pale blue, long-sleeved shirt and faded blue jeans.

"I suppose you're going to tell me that your boyfriend will avenge you?" he asked, hopefully, it seemed to me.

"No, I don't think so. I told him not to, anyway."

"And what was his reply to that?"

"I don't know." The conversation was so normal, everyday, it was surreal. "I left him a letter."

"How romantic, a last letter. And do you think he will honor it?" His voice was just a little harder now, a hint of sarcasm marring his polite tone.

"He better."

"Hmmm. Well, we have different hopes for him, then. You see, this was all just a little too easy—too quick. To be quite honest, I'm disappointed. I expected a much greater challenge. After all my high hopes, all it took was a little dumb luck."

I waited in silence.

"When Victoria couldn't get to your father, I had her find out more about you. There was no sense in running all over the planet chasing you down when I could comfortably wait for you in a place of my choosing. So, after I talked to Victoria, I decided to come to Phoenix to pay your mother a visit. I'd heard you say you were going home. At first, I never dreamed you meant it. But then I wondered. Humans can be very predictable; they like to be somewhere familiar, somewhere safe. And wouldn't it be the perfect ploy, to go to the last place you should be when you're hiding—the place that you said you'd be.

"But, of course, I wasn't sure. It was just a hunch. I usually get a feeling about the prey that I'm hunting, a sixth sense, if you will. I listened to your message when I got to your mother's house, but of course I couldn't be sure where you'd called from. It was very useful to have your number, but you could have been in Antarctica for all I knew, and the game wouldn't work unless you were close by.

"Then your boyfriend got on a plane to Phoenix. Victoria was monitoring them for me, naturally; in a game with this many players, I couldn't be working alone. And so they told me what I'd hoped, that you were here after all. I was prepared; I'd already been through your charming home movies. And then it was simply a matter of the bluff.

"Very easy, you see,” he said. “Not really up to my standards. So, you know, I'm hoping you're wrong about your intrepid little love… Edward, isn't it?"

I didn't answer. The bravado was wearing off. I sensed that he was coming to the end of his gloating. It wasn't meant for me anyway. There was no glory in beating me, a pathetic little human. Likely no more than I’d find in besting a hamburger.

"Would you mind, very much, if I left a little letter of my own for your Edward?"

He took a step back and touched a palm-sized digital video camera balanced carefully on top of the stereo. A small red light indicated that it was already running. He adjusted it a few times, widened the frame. I stared at him, suddenly in a rage and unable to do anything about it.

"I'm sorry, but I just don't think he'll be able to resist hunting me after he watches this. And I wouldn't want him to miss anything. It was all for him, of course. You were simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time—and running with the wrong crowd, I might add."

He stepped toward me, smiling. "Before we begin..."

I felt a curl of nausea in the pit of my stomach as he spoke. This was something I had not anticipated. The monologuing. Couldn’t he just get on with it?

"I would like to rub it in, just a little bit. The answer was there all along, and I was so afraid Edward would see that and ruin my fun. It happened once, oh, ages ago. The one and only time my prey escaped me.

"You see, the vampire back then made the choice that your Edward was too weak to make. When the old one knew I was after his little friend, he stole her from the asylum where he worked—I never will understand the obsession some vampires seem to form with you humans—and as soon as he freed her he made her safe. She didn't even seem to notice the pain, poor little creature. She'd been stuck in that black hole of a cell for so long. A hundred years earlier and she would have been burned at the stake for her visions. In the nineteen-twenties it was the asylum and the shock treatments. When she opened her eyes, strong with her fresh youth, it was like she'd never seen the sun before. The old vampire made her a strong new vampire, and there was no reason for me to touch her then." He sighed. "I destroyed the old one in vengeance."

"Alice," I breathed, astonished.

"Yes.” He smiled. “Your little friend. I was surprised to see her in the clearing. So I guess her coven ought to be able to derive some comfort from this experience. I get you, but they get her. The one victim who escaped me. Quite an honor, actually.”

He shifted, took a step forward, and I thought he’d finally strike but instead he just kept talking. 

"She smelled… so delicious. I still regret that I never got to taste. She smelled even better than you do. Oh, no offense meant—you have a very nice smell. Like fire, somehow..."

He took another step toward me, till he was just inches away. He sniffed me delicately. Then he gently patted my shoulder, and after, I felt his cool fingertips dance against my throat. He reached up to stroke my cheek once quickly with his thumb, his face curious. I wanted to break his hand but knew I couldn’t. I couldn’t even move. I couldn't even flinch away.

"No," he murmured to himself as he dropped his hand, "I don't understand." He sighed. "Well, I suppose we should get on with it. And then I can call your friends and tell them where to find your corpse—and of course my little message."

There was pain coming, I could see it in his eyes. It wouldn't be enough for him to win, to feed and go. There would be no quick end like I'd been unconsciously counting on to get myself here. My legs were shaking, my whole body, and it added embarrassment to the fear, but I couldn’t force myself to stop, just lessen it a bit, and I was afraid I was going to fall.

He stepped back, and began to circle, casually, as if he were trying to get a better view of a statue in a museum. His face was still open and friendly as he decided where to start.

Then he slumped forward, into a crouch I recognized, and his pleasant smile slowly widened, grew, till it wasn't a smile at all but a contortion of teeth, exposed and glistening.

And at that, I stilled. I didn’t run, resisting my body’s compulsion. If I was going to die, I would die well. I straightened my posture.

He was in front of me in a flash. I didn't see if he used his hand or his foot, it was too fast. A crushing blow struck my chest—I felt myself flying backward, and then heard the crunch as my head bashed into the mirrors. The glass buckled, some of the pieces shattering and splintering on the floor beside me.

I was too stunned to feel the pain. I couldn't breathe yet.

He walked toward me slowly.

"That's a very nice effect," he said, examining the mess of glass, his voice friendly again. "I thought this room would be visually dramatic for my little film. That's why I picked this place to meet you. It's perfect, isn't it?"

I ignored him, making it up to my hands and knees, trying to stand once more.

He was over me at once, his foot stepping down hard on my leg. I heard the sickening snap before I felt it. But then I did feel it, and I bit down on my arm to muffle the scream I couldn’t help but let go of. I twisted up to reach for my leg, and he was standing over me, smiling.

"Would you like to rethink your last request?" he asked pleasantly. His toe nudged my broken leg and I shook, not screaming a second time. Edward would see. He would see this. I would end this well.

"Wouldn't you rather have Edward try to find me?" he prompted.

"Fuck off!" I croaked. "Don’t you dare, Edwa-" And then something smashed into my face, throwing me back into the broken mirrors.

Over the pain of my leg, I felt the sharp rip across my scalp where the glass cut into it. And then the warm wetness began to spread through my hair with alarming speed. I could feel it soaking the shoulder of my shirt, hear it dripping on the wood below. The smell of it twisted my stomach.

Through the nausea and dizziness I saw something that had me laughing, gave me a tiny, final shred of hope. His eyes, merely intent before, now burned with an uncontrollable need. The blood—spreading crimson across my white shirt, pooling rapidly on the floor—was driving him mad with thirst. No matter his original intentions, he couldn't draw this out much longer.

_ Hurry up then _ , was all I could think, as the flow of blood from my head sucked my consciousness away with it. My eyes were closing.

I heard, as if from underwater, the final growl of the hunter. I could see, through the long tunnel I had to look through now, his dark shape coming toward me. With my last effort, I spat blood in his immaculate marble face. Then my eyes closed, and I drifted.


	24. The Angel

As I drifted, I dreamed.

Where I floated, under the dark water, I heard the happiest sound my mind could conjure up—as beautiful, as uplifting, as it was ghastly. It was another snarl; a deeper, wilder roar that rang with fury.

I was brought back, almost to the surface, by a sharp pain blazing through my upraised hand, but I couldn't find my way back far enough to open my eyes.

And then I knew I was dead.

Because, through the heavy water, I heard the sound of an angel calling my name, calling me to the only heaven I wanted.

"No no no, Beau, no!" I heard, Edward’s voice coming through the water loud and clear and horrified. That wasn’t right. It bothered me. That voice should never sound like that.

Behind that sound I’d wanted to hear more than anything was another noise—an awful tumult that the pain in my head made me shy away from. A vicious bass growling, a shocking snapping sound, and a high keening, suddenly breaking off...

I knew what was happening. I was just in no condition to get excited about it. I tried to concentrate on the angel's voice instead. On Edward. On making his voice sound right again.

"Beau, please! Beau, listen to me, please, please, Beau, please!" he begged.

‘Sure thing,’ I wanted to say, ‘anything you need.’ But I couldn't find my lips.

"Carlisle!" Edward called, agony in his perfect voice. "Beau, Beau, no, oh please, no, no!" And the angel was sobbing tearless, broken sobs.

Which was more wrong than the horror of before. Wronger? Whatever. Anyway, what kind of horrible place was this that would allow an angel to weep like that? Where had I ended up? I tried to find him, to tell him everything was fine, but the water was so deep, it was pressing on me, and I couldn't breathe.

There was a point of pressure against my head. It hurt. Then, as that pain broke through the darkness to me, other pains came, stronger pains. I cried out, gasping, breaking through the dark pool.

"Beau!" my angel cried.

"He's lost some blood, but the head wound isn't deep," a calm voice informed me. "Watch out for his leg, it's broken. Badly."

My body jumped involuntarily at the noise that Edward made hearing that. I’d drifted again and it’d startled me. The jump jostled my leg and I surfaced a bit at the pain. 

I felt a sharp stab in my side. This couldn't be heaven, could it? For one thing, I imagined heaven wouldn’t sting so damn much. Hell then? It made sense. That was where monsters went, after all, wasn’t it?

"Some ribs, too, I think," the methodical voice continued.

But the sharp pains were fading. There was a new pain, a scalding pain in my hand that was overshadowing everything else.

Someone was burning me.

"Edward." I tried to tell him, but my voice was so heavy and slow. I couldn't understand myself.

"Beau, you're going to be fine. Can you hear me, Beau? I love you."

"Edward," I tried again. My voice was a little clearer.

"Yes, I'm here."

"It hurts," I whispered.

"I know, Beau, I know," and then, away from me, anguished, "can't you do anything?"

"My bag, please... Hold your breath, Alice, it will help," Carlisle promised.

"Alice?" I groaned.

"She's here, she knew where to find you."

"My hand," I tried to tell him.

"I know, Beau. Carlisle will give you something, it will stop."

"My hand is burning!" I yelled, finally breaking through the last of the darkness, my eyes opening stickily. I couldn't see his face, couldn’t see much of anything. There was blood in my eyes. Mine, I thought. But why couldn't they put out the fire? Didn’t they see?

His voice was frightened. "Beau?"

"Please!” I lifted my hand as best I could, fighting the urge to curl into the pain. “Stop it burning stop it burning, please! Please, Edward!"

"Carlisle! His hand!"

"He bit him." Carlisle's voice was no longer calm, it was appalled.

I heard Edward catch his breath in horror.

"Edward, you have to do it." It was Alice's voice, close by my head. Cool fingers brushed at the wetness in my eyes.

"No!" he bellowed.

"Alice," I moaned.

"There may be a chance," Carlisle said.

"What?" Edward begged.

"See if you can suck the venom back out. The wound is fairly clean." As Carlisle spoke, I could feel more pressure on my head, something poking and pulling at my scalp. The pain of it was lost in the pain of the fire.

"Will that work?" Alice's voice was strained.

"I don't know," Carlisle said. "But we have to hurry."

"Carlisle, I..." Edward hesitated. "I don't know if I can do that." There was agony in his beautiful voice again.

"It's your decision, Edward, either way. I can't help you. I have to get this bleeding stopped here if you're going to be taking blood from his hand."

I writhed in the grip of the fiery torture, the movement making the bones in my leg jar sickeningly. I could barely feel that pain over the fire.

"Edward!" I yelled, my voice breaking. I realized my eyes were closed again. I opened them, desperate to find his face. And I found him. Finally, I could see his perfect face, staring at me, twisted into a mask of indecision and pain. No. Not right.

"Alice, get me something to brace his leg!" Carlisle was bent over me, working on my head. "Edward, you must do it now, or it will be too late."

Edward's face was drawn. I watched his eyes as the doubt was suddenly replaced with a blazing determination. His jaw tightened. I felt his cool, strong fingers on my burning hand, locking it in place. Then his head bent over it, and his cold lips pressed against my skin.

At first the pain was worse. I screamed and thrashed against the cool hands that held me back. I heard Alice's voice, trying to calm me. Something heavy held my leg to the floor, and Carlisle had my head locked in the vise of his stone arms.

Then, slowly, my writhing calmed as my hand grew more and more numb. The fire was dulling, focusing into an ever-smaller point.

I felt my consciousness slipping as the pain subsided. I was afraid to fall into the black waters again, afraid I would lose him in the darkness.

"Edward," I tried to say, but I couldn't hear my own voice. They could. They could hear me. Edward could hear me.

"He's right here, Beau."

"Stay, Edward, stay with me..."

"I will." His voice was strained, but somehow triumphant. “Do the same for me?”

I sighed contentedly and attempted to nod. The fire was gone, the other pains dulled by a sleepiness seeping through my body.

"Is it all out?" Carlisle asked from somewhere far away.

"His blood tastes clean," Edward said quietly. "I can taste the morphine."

"Beau?" Carlisle called to me.

I tried to answer. "Mmmmm?"

"Is the fire gone?"

"Yup," I sighed. "Thanks, Edward. You’re awesome."

"You’re very welcome," he answered in an exasperated but amused huff. His hand squeezed my non-injured one and he whispered into my ear. “I love you, Beau.” He kissed my hand. “I love you.”

"Me too,” I whispered back. “But with you." I was too tired to think.

I heard my favorite sound in the world: Edward's quiet laugh, weak with relief.

I smiled. “Love you.”

I barely got the words out before drifting again, this time on much calmer waters. Edward’s hand remained in mine.

"Beau?" Carlisle asked again.

I frowned; I wanted to sleep. "No."

"Where is your mother?"

I made an effort to answer. "In Florida," I sighed. "He tricked me. He watched our videos." The outrage in my voice was pitifully frail.

But that reminded me.

"Alice." I tried to open my eyes. "Alice, the video—he knew you, Alice, he knew where you came from." I meant to speak urgently, but my voice was feeble. "I smell gasoline," I added, surprised through the haze in my brain.

"It's time to move him," Carlisle said.

"No, I want to sleep," I complained.

"You can sleep, love. I'll carry you," Edward soothed.

And I was in his arms, cradled against his chest—floating, all pain gone.

"Sleep now, Beau" were the last words I heard.


	25. An Impasse

My eyes opened to a bright, white light. I was in an unfamiliar room, a white room. The wall beside me was covered in long vertical blinds; over my head, the glaring lights blinded me. I was propped up on a hard, uneven bed—a bed with rails. The pillows were flat and lumpy. There was an annoying beeping sound somewhere close by. I hoped that meant I was still alive. Death shouldn't be this uncomfortable. I mean, there was Hell, but this was surely too bland for that. And I smelled disinfectant. Close to Hell then. A hospital.

My hands were all twisted up with clear tubes, and something was taped across my face, under my nose. I lifted my hand to rip it off.

"No, you don't." And cool fingers caught my hand.

"Edward?" I turned my head slightly, and his exquisite face was just inches from mine, his chin resting on the edge of my pillow. I realized again that I was alive, this time with gratitude and elation. "Hi. I'm so sorry! You saved me. You—"

"Shhhh," he shushed me. "Everything's all right now."

"What happened, exactly? I was only half there for most of it, after... you know..." I couldn't remember everything clearly, and my mind threw a panicked wall up at me when I tried to recall.

"I was almost too late. I could have been too late," he whispered, his voice tormented.

"Oh crap, don’t—don’t do that. I thought I had no other choice, Edward. I thought he had my mom. Still, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry."

"He tricked us all."

"I need to call Dad and Mom," I realized through the haze. And my heart sank at the thought of dealing with the mess I’d left with both of them.

"Alice called them. Renée is here—well, here in the hospital. She's getting something to eat right now."

"She's here?" I tried to sit up, but the spinning in my head got worse and his hand pushed me gently back down onto the pillows.

"She'll be back soon," he promised. "And you need to stay still."

"But what did you tell her?" I panicked. I had no interest in being soothed. My mom was here and I was recovering from a vampire attack. "Why did you tell her I'm here?"

"You fell down two flights of stairs and through a window." He paused. "You have to admit, it could happen."

I sighed, and it hurt. I stared down at my body under the sheet, the huge lump that was my leg.

"Yeah,” I sighed. “Entirely plausible; good cover.” I paused. I almost didn’t want to ask. “How bad am I?"

"You have a broken leg, four broken ribs, some cracks in your skull, bruises covering every inch of your skin, and you've lost a lot of blood. They gave you a few transfusions. I didn't like it—it made you smell all wrong for a while."

"Really? I’d have thought that it would be a nice break for you. Especially after..."

His eyes stayed bright. He looked a bit proud of himself. "No, I like how you smell."

"How did you do it?" I asked quietly. It didn’t take a mind reader to know which ‘it’ I was referring to.

"I'm not sure." He looked away from my wondering eyes, lifting my gauze-wrapped hand from the bed and holding it gently in his, careful not to disrupt the wire connecting me to one of the monitors.

I waited patiently for the rest.

He sighed without returning my gaze. "It was impossible... to stop," he whispered. "Impossible. But I did." He looked up finally, with half a smile. "I guess I really  _ must _ love you."

I snorted.

"So do I taste as good as I smell?" I asked with a smile that I quickly abandoned because it hurt my face.

"Even better—better than I'd imagined."

"I'm sorry for being so tasty," I apologized.

He raised his eyes to the ceiling, smiling, giving my hand the lightest squeeze. "Of all the things to apologize for."

"Of all the— Okay, I’ll bite, what  _ should _ I be apologizing for?"

"For very nearly taking yourself away from me forever."

"But... I already did that,” I blurted incredulously. “Fine, you win, I'm sorry,” I apologized, for the fourth or so time. “Again. Happy now?" 

It didn’t lighten the mood like I’d hoped. He watched me with troubled eyes and I looked back, just as troubled. Finally I picked up his hand, careful not to pull out any tubes, and held it as he had held mine.

“Edward… the thought of how deeply my death would wound you… I almost couldn’t go... not even to save my own mother.” I squeezed his warming hand. “I had to go. I had to. You get that, right?”

"I know why you did it." His voice was comforting. "You’re… brave. Very inconveniently so. But Beau, going yourself was... it was irrational, unnecessary. You should have waited for me, told me, let me—"

"Let you save me? Sacrifice my mom?”

It rang too close to home. How close had I been to doing the same for him? He watched me, silent. I dropped his hand.

“She was never in any danger.”

“Yeah, well,” I said, rubbing the chill from my palm, “Hindsight is 20/20. You wouldn't have let me go, so…." There were a million other things I wanted to say. I just didn’t have the energy.

"No," he agreed in a grim tone, "I wouldn't."

An alternate world trampled through my imagination. One where I was whole and unharmed and looking down into the open casket of my cold lifeless mother—the one I’d always protected just the same as Edward would protect me if I’d let him—the one I couldn’t even imagine without a warm hug or a giggle or some stupid dance move she was trying to learn. The one he would have let me lose. Not so pleasant. I shuddered, and then winced.

He was instantly anxious. "Beau, what's wrong?"

"You killed him then?” It was easier to focus on the clear bad guy here. “James. He’s dead?"

"After I pulled him off you, Emmett and Jasper took care of him." There was a fierce note of regret in his voice. That he couldn’t have helped kill the guy, no doubt.

Couldn’t blame him there.

But now I was confused. "I didn't see Emmett and Jasper there."

"They had to leave the room... there was a lot of blood."

"But you stayed."

My pinkie reached out and touched his.

"Yes,” he said, smiling small and warm and stroking my pinkie with his. “I stayed."

"And Alice, and Carlisle..." I said in wonder.

"They love you, too, you know."

A flash of painful images from the last time I'd seen Alice reminded me of something. "Did Alice see the tape?" I asked anxiously.

"Yes." A new sound darkened his voice, a tone of sheer hatred.

"She was always in the dark, that's why she didn't remember."

"I know. She understands now." His voice was even, but his face was black with fury.

I tried to reach his face with my free hand, but something stopped me. I glanced down to see the IV pulling at my hand. Lame.

"Ugh." I winced.

"What is it?" he asked anxiously—distracted, but not enough. The bleakness did not entirely leave his eyes.

"Needles," I explained, looking away from the one in my hand. I concentrated on a warped ceiling tile and tried to breathe deeply despite the ache in my ribs.

"Afraid of a needle," he muttered to himself under his breath, shaking his head. "Oh, a sadistic vampire, intent on torturing him to death, sure, no problem, he runs off to meet  _ him _ . An IV, on the other hand..."

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not afraid, precisely, just don’t like them much is all.” I was pleased to discover that rolling my eyes, at least, was pain-free, and foresaw a lot of sarcasm in my near future. But I decided to change the subject.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

He stared at me, first confusion and then hurt touching his eyes. His brows pulled together as he frowned. "Do you want me to leave?"

I laughed loudly, unable to help it after hearing such an absurd question, then stopped immediately, wincing. Best stick to sarcasm, then. "Ow. Shit. Yeah, I totally do—you have got to be kidding me, Edward." I snorted, ready to roll my eyes again at the thought. "Of course I don’t. I meant, why does my  _ mother _ think you're here? I need to have my story straight before she gets back."

"Oh," he said, and his forehead smoothed back into marble. "I came to Phoenix to talk some sense into you, to convince you to come back to Forks." His wide eyes were so earnest and sincere, I almost believed him myself for a second. But that was most likely due to the drugs. "You agreed to see me, and you drove out to the hotel where I was staying with Carlisle and Alice—of course I was here with parental supervision," he inserted virtuously, "but you tripped on the stairs on the way to my room and... well, you know the rest. You don't need to remember any details, though; you have a good excuse to be a little muddled about the finer points."

I thought about it for a moment. "That must have been fun to fake."

"Alice had a little bit too much fun fabricating evidence, for my tastes. It's all been taken care of very convincingly—you could probably sue the hotel if you wanted to. You have nothing to worry about," he promised, stroking my cheek with the lightest of touches. "Your only job now is to heal."

I wasn't so lost to the soreness or the fog of medication that I didn't respond to his touch. The beeping of the monitor jumped around erratically—now he wasn't the only one who could hear my heart misbehave. Awesome.

"Well, that’s not embarrassing at all," I muttered to myself, really enjoying sarcasm now.

He chuckled, and a speculative look came into his eye. "Hmm, I wonder..."

He leaned in slowly; the beeping noise accelerated wildly before his lips even touched me. But when they did, though with the most gentle of pressure, the beeping stopped altogether.

He pulled back abruptly, his anxious expression turning to relief as the monitor reported the restarting of my heart.

“You killed me. Bad vampire.”

"It seems that I'm going to have to be even more careful with you than usual." He frowned.

"I wasn’t done kissing you," I complained. "My lips are the only things that don’t hurt at the moment, besides my eyeballs.” I reached for him. “Don't make me come over there. I’ll probably tangle the IV and die again."

He grinned and bent to press his lips lightly to mine. The monitor went wild.

But then his lips were taut. He pulled away.

"I think I hear your mother," he explained, grinning again.

"Don't leave me," I whispered, an irrational surge of panic flooding through me that I couldn’t completely keep from my voice. I couldn't let him go—he might disappear from me again.

He read the terror in my eyes for a short second. "I won't," he promised solemnly, and then he smiled. "I'll take a nap."

He moved from the hard plastic chair by my side to the turquoise faux-leather recliner at the foot of my bed, leaning it all the way back, and closing his eyes. He was perfectly still.

"Don't forget to breathe," I whispered, wishing vaguely already that I had more than sarcasm at my disposal. He took a deep breath, his eyes still closed.

I could hear my mother now. She was talking to someone, maybe a nurse, and she sounded tired and upset. I wanted to jump out of the bed and run to her, to calm her, promise that everything was fine. But I wasn't in any sort of shape for jumping, and since it hurt just to think about it, I waited impatiently.

The door opened a crack, and she peeked through.

"Mom!" I whispered. God, actually seeing her was better than I could have imagined.

She took in Edward's still form on the recliner and tiptoed to my bedside.

"He never leaves, does he?" she mumbled to herself.

"Glad to see you, kid.” I told her, grinning. “Really really glad. You have no idea."

She bent down to hug me gently, and I felt warm tears falling on my cheeks.

"Beau, I was so upset!"

"I'm sorry, Mom. But everything's fine now, okay? It's okay."

"I'm just glad to finally see your eyes open." She sat on the edge of my bed.

I suddenly realized I didn't have any idea when it was. "Right. How long have they been closed?"

"It's Friday, hon, you've been out for a while."

"Friday?" I realized I was still in the dark. I tried to remember what day it had been, when... but I didn't want to think about that. Nope. So not thinking about it.

"They had to keep you sedated for a while—you've got a lot of... injuries." Tears again.

She patted my leg and I winced and she cringed and mouthed a sorry.

"Injuries. Yes, I’m intimately aware." I refrained from rolling my eyes again, afraid I’d pull a muscle and lose my last pain-free gesture.

"You're lucky Dr. Cullen was there. He's such a nice man... very young, though. And he looks more like a model than a doctor..."

"You met Carlisle?"

"And Edward's sister Alice. She's a lovely girl."

"She is," I agreed wholeheartedly.

She glanced over her shoulder at Edward, lying with his eyes closed in the chair. "You didn't tell me you had such good friends in Forks."

I cringed, and then moaned.

"What hurts?" she demanded anxiously, turning back to me. “I didn’t touch anything.” 

Edward's eyes flashed to my face.

"It's fine," I assured them. "I just have to remember not to move." He lapsed back into his phony slumber.

I took advantage of my mother's momentary distraction to keep the subject from returning to my less-than-candid behavior. "Where's Phil?" I asked quickly.

"Florida—oh, Beau! You'll never guess! Just when we were about to leave, the best news!"

"Phil got signed?" I guessed.

"Yes! How did you guess! The Suns, can you believe it?"

"That's great, Mom," I said as enthusiastically as I could manage, though I had little idea what that meant.

"And you'll like Jacksonville so much," she gushed while I stared at her vacantly. "I was a little bit worried when Phil started talking about Akron, what with the snow and everything, because you know how I hate the cold, but now Jacksonville! It's always sunny, and the humidity really isn't that bad. We found the cutest house, yellow, with white trim, and a porch just like in an old movie, and this huge oak tree, and it's just a few minutes from the ocean, and you'll have your own bathroom—"

"Woah, woah, Mom!" I interrupted. Edward still had his eyes closed, but he looked too tense to pass as asleep. "What are you talking about? I'm not going to Florida. I live in Forks."

"But you don't have to anymore, silly," she laughed. "Phil will be able to be around so much more now... we've talked about it a lot, and what I'm going to do is trade off on the away games, half the time with you, half the time with him."

"Mom." I hesitated, wondering how best to be diplomatic about this. "I want to live in Forks. I'm already settled in at school, and I have a couple of friends," she glanced toward Edward again when I reminded her of friends, so I tried another direction, "and Dad needs me. He's just all alone up there, and he can't cook at all."

"You want to stay in Forks?" she asked, bewildered. The idea was inconceivable to her. And then her eyes flickered back toward Edward. "Why?"

"I told you—school, Dad—ouch!" I'd shrugged. Not a good idea.

Her hands fluttered helplessly over me, trying to find a safe place to pat. She made do with my forehead; it was unbandaged.

"Beau, honey, you’ve always hated Forks," she reminded me.

"It grows on you."

She frowned and looked back and forth between Edward and me, this time very deliberately.

"Is it... is this boy the reason for that phone call all those weeks ago?" she whispered.

I opened my mouth, her eyes were scrutinizing my face, and I knew she already suspected the truth. What was the harm in confirming it.

"He is indeed," I admitted, then wondered, "Have you talked with him?"

"Yes." She hesitated, looking at his perfectly still form. "And I want to talk to you about that."

I didn’t like the way she said that at all. "What about?" I asked cautiously.

"I think that boy is in love with you," she accused, keeping her voice low.

"I know he is," I confided.

"And how do you feel about him?" She only poorly concealed the raging curiosity in her voice.

I sighed, looking away. My mom. She was such a mom sometimes. "My feelings are very mutual." There—the truth. At least she’d get one piece of it today.

"Well,” she started, a bit stunned. This was bound to seem very fast to her. But she knew me, how my mind worked. If anyone could understand it would be her. “He seems very nice, and, my goodness, he's incredibly good-looking...” And at this she paused. She stroked my forehead again gently and her voice got soft and warm. “but you're so young, Beau. You’ve had so little time to get to know yourself." Her voice was unsure; as far as I could remember, this was the first time since I was eight that she'd come close to trying to sound like a parental authority. I recognized the reasonable-but-firm tone of voice from talks I'd had with her about girls back before I’d become a situation.

"I know that, Mom.” I almost told her that it wasn’t what she was thinking. I wasn’t making the same mistake that she had. That I wasn’t her. “You’ve just gotta trust me on this one, kid," I soothed her, falling into the banter of a character in an old-time movie as I so loved to do with her. “I’ve got a feeling, and you know how I get when I’ve got a feeling. I’ve gonna let it play out till it’s spent, or I’ll go crazy.”

"Alright," she agreed, easily swayed as always. “I’ve never had a reason not to trust your judgement before, Beau. I guess it’d be silly of me to start now.”

Then she sighed and glanced guiltily over her shoulder at the big, round clock on the wall.

"Do you need to go?"

She bit her lip. "Phil's supposed to call in a little while... I didn't know you were going to wake up..."

"No problem, Mom." I tried to tone down the relief so she wouldn't get her feelings hurt. "I won't be alone."

"I'll be back soon. I've been sleeping here, you know," she announced, sounding proud of herself.

"Mom, don't do that,” I asked. “You can sleep at home—I'll never notice. I’m highly medicated." The swirl of painkillers in my brain was making it hard to concentrate even now, though, apparently, I'd been sleeping for days.

"I was too nervous," she admitted sheepishly. "There's been some crime in the neighborhood, and I don't like being there alone."

"Crime?" I asked, puzzled.

"Someone broke into that dance studio around the corner from the house and burned it to the ground—there's nothing left at all! And they left a stolen car right out front. Do you remember when you used to dance there, honey?"

"I remember," I winced. I wasn’t kidding about the drugs affecting my brain.

"I can stay, hun, if you need me."

"No, Mom, I'll be fine. Edward will be here."

She looked a bit like that might be why she wanted to stay, not trusting me after all, it seemed, at least not completely. "I'll be back tonight." It sounded as much like a warning as it sounded like a promise, and she glanced at Edward again as she said it.

"If you insist. I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too, my Beau. Try to be more careful when you walk, honey, I don't want to lose you."

Edward's eyes stayed closed, but a wide grin flashed across his face.

A nurse came bustling in then to check all my tubes and wires. I realized that one of them was a catheter when the nurse removed it, drawing a very unmanly squeak from me. Why couldn’t I have just died and skipped all of the indignity? My mother kissed my forehead, patted my gauze-wrapped hand very gently, and left, trying not to snicker. Good old Mom.

The nurse was checking the paper readout on my heart monitor.

"Are you feeling anxious, hun? Your heart rate got a little high there."

"I’m fine," I assured her, wondering if she was slyly mocking me for my earlier embarrassingly squeaky reaction or was commenting on Edward’s latest assassination attempt via kiss.

"I'll tell your nurse that you're awake. She'll be in to see you in a minute."

As soon as she closed the door, Edward was at my side.

"You stole a car?" I asked, pretty impressed.

He smiled, unrepentant. "It was a good car, very fast."

I was grudgingly more impressed. "How was your nap?" I asked.

"Interesting." His eyes narrowed.

"Was it?"

He looked down while he answered. "I'm surprised. I thought Florida... and your mother... well, I thought that's what you would want."

I stared at him uncomprehendingly. "No. You'd be stuck inside all day in Florida. You'd only be able to come out at night, just like a real vampire. And I wouldn’t ask you to leave your family for me."

He almost smiled, but not quite. And then his face was grave. "I would stay in Forks if you went, Beau. Or somewhere like it," he explained. "Someplace where I couldn't hurt you anymore."

It didn't sink in at first. I continued to stare at him blankly as the words one by one clicked into place in my head like a ghastly puzzle. I was barely conscious of the sound of my heart accelerating, though, as my breathing became hyperventilation, I was aware of the sharp aching in my protesting ribs.

He didn't say anything; he watched my face warily as the pain that had nothing to do with broken bones, pain that was infinitely worse, crushed me. It wasn’t what he said, not really, because hadn’t he been saying it all along? It was the timing. I couldn’t handle it. On top of everything else it was too much.

Before he could react, as he looked about to do, another nurse walked purposefully into the room. Edward sat still as stone as she took in my expression with a practiced eye before turning to the monitors.

"Time for more pain meds, cutie?" she asked kindly, tapping the IV feed.

"No," I mumbled, keeping most of the agony out of my voice. "I don't need anything." I couldn't afford to close my eyes now.

"No need to be brave, hun. It's better if you don't get too stressed out; you need to rest." She waited, but I just shook my head.

"Okay," she sighed. "Hit the call button when you're ready."

She gave Edward a stern look, and threw one more anxious glance at the machinery, before leaving.

His cool hands were on my face; I stared at him with wild eyes.

"Shhh, Beau, calm down."

"Don't leave me, okay?" I begged in a broken voice. “I just, I can’t, okay, so don’t—”

"I won't," he promised. "Now relax before I call the nurse back to sedate you."

But my heart couldn't slow.

"Beau." He stroked my face anxiously. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here as long as you need me."

"Swear you won't leave me," I whispered. I tried to control the gasping, at least. My ribs were throbbing.

He put his hands on either side of my face and brought his face close to mine. His eyes were wide and serious. "I swear."

The smell of him was soothing. His breath seemed to ease the ache of my breathing. He continued to hold my gaze while my body slowly relaxed and the beeping returned to a normal pace. His eyes were dark, closer to black than gold today.

"Better?" he asked.

"Better," I confirmed cautiously.

He shook his head and muttered something unintelligible. I thought I picked out the word "overreaction."

"Guess I’m just weak like that," I whispered, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "Are you tired of having to save me all the time? Do you want me to go away?"

"No, I don't want to be without you, Beau, of course not. Be rational. And I’d have no problem with saving you, either—if it weren't for the fact that I was the one putting you in danger... If I weren’t the reason that you're here."

"I’m the reason that I’m here." I frowned. "You’re the reason that I’m alive."

"Barely." His voice was just a whisper. "Covered in gauze and plaster and hardly able to move."

"I wasn't just referring to my most recent near-death experience," I said, growing irritated. "I was thinking of the others, actually—you can take your pick. If it weren't for you, I would have been rotting away in the Forks cemetery months ago."

He winced at my words, but the haunted look didn't leave his eyes.

"That's not the worst part, though," he continued to whisper. He acted as if I hadn't spoken. "Not seeing you there on the floor... crumpled and broken." His voice was choked. "Not thinking I was too late. Not even hearing you scream in pain—all those unbearable memories that I'll carry with me for the rest of eternity. No, the very worst was feeling... knowing that I couldn't stop. Believing that I was going to kill you myself."

"But you didn't."

"I could have. So easily."

I knew I needed to stay calm... but he was trying to talk himself into leaving me, and the panic fluttered in my lungs, trying to get out.

"You’re stronger than you realize, Edward. I’ve always known that. Just known, without having to think—” I felt I was stating the obvious. Was unsure why he couldn’t see what I saw. “But promise me?" I whispered.

"What?"

"You know what." I was starting to get angry now. He was so stubbornly determined to dwell on the negative.

He heard the change in my tone. His eyes tightened. "I don't seem to be strong enough to stay away from you, so I suppose that you'll get your way... whether it kills you or not," he added roughly.

"I’m already on my fourth life, so I’m not too worried about it." He hadn't promised, though—a fact that I had not missed. The panic was only barely contained; I had no strength left to control the anger. "You told me how you stopped... now I want to know why," I demanded.

"Why?" he repeated warily.

"Why you did it. Why didn't you just let the venom spread? Our song ends sadly, Edward. And more sadly for you than for me, if things stay like this, at least if you love me half as much as you say you do.” I thought back to the reason I’d almost turned back, let my mother— Of his pain once I was gone. The thought that kept me up some nights. I needed to know. “If I’d turned... if I’d turned it wouldn’t have had to be that way."

Edward's eyes seemed to turn flat black, and I remembered that this was something he'd never intended me to know. Alice must have been preoccupied by the things she'd learned about herself... or she'd been very careful with her thoughts around him—clearly, he'd had no idea that she'd filled me in on the mechanics of vampire conversions. He was surprised, and infuriated. His nostrils flared, his mouth looked as if it was chiseled from stone.

He wasn't going to answer, that much was clear. He wasn’t one to care about his own pain. That’s what I was for.

"I'll be the first to admit that I have no experience with relationships," I said. "But it seems they should be equal. As it stands, I’m your... pet. Beloved. Doomed to die. And you seem to love me all the harder for it. Or is that it? Is that how you want it? Edward, I want to be able to touch you, to be able to save you, too. I hate being so much more fragile than you. I don’t understand.”

He folded his arms on the bed beside my bed and rested his chin on his arms. His expression was smooth, the anger reined in. Evidently, he'd decided he wasn't angry with  _ me _ . I hoped I'd get a chance to warn Alice before he caught up with her.

"You  _ have _ saved me," he said quietly.

"I’m not Lois Lane, Edward," I insisted. "I’ve always been Superman, looking out for my mom. Always, until I met you. The role of damsel in distress doesn’t suit me."

"You’re no damsel in distress,” He said, dismissive. “And you don't know what you're asking." His voice was soft; he stared intently at the edge of the pillowcase.

"I know as much as I ever can. I know more than you did."

"Beau, you don't know. I've had almost ninety years to think about this, and I'm still not sure."

"Do you wish that Carlisle hadn't saved you?"

"No, I don't wish that." He paused before continuing. "But my life was over. I wasn't giving anything up."

"You are my life. You're the only thing…” I had to admit it to myself. “The only thing it would kill me to lose. It hurts me just to think of you losing me. I don’t want to be the inevitable cause of so much pain." I was getting better at this. It was easy to admit how much I needed him. How fiercely I cared.

He was very calm, though. Decided.

"I can't do it, Beau. I won't do that to you."

"Then explain to me why you won’t." My throat rasped, dry, and the words weren't as loud as I'd meant them to be. "Don't tell me it's too hard! After what you did... after that, it should be nothing."

He glared at me.

"And the pain?" he asked.

I blanched. I couldn't help it. But it didn’t matter, did it? Pain was temporary for me. For him it would be eternal.

"Worth it."

"It's possible to take bravery to the point where it becomes insanity."

"It's not an issue. Three days. Big deal. Edward, you’ll..." I couldn’t finish the thought. I couldn’t.

Edward grimaced again as my words reminded him that I was more informed than he had ever intended me to be. I watched him repress the anger, watched as his eyes grew speculative.

"Charlie?" he asked curtly. "Renée?"

Time passed in silence as I struggled to answer his question. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I closed it again. He waited, and his expression became triumphant because he knew I had no true answer.

"I love them both," I finally whispered, my voice still scratchy. "But Renée has always made the choices that work for her—she'd want me to do the same. And Charlie's resilient, he's used to being on his own. I can't take care of them forever. I have my own life to live."

"Exactly," he snapped. "And I won't end it for you."

"It wouldn’t be an end! Are you planning to wait till I’m accidentally injured so severely that you have no other choice? I was just near death, if I have to remind you."

"You're going to recover," he reminded me.

I took a deep breath to calm myself, ignoring the spasm of pain it triggered. I stared at him, and he stared back. There was no compromise in his face.

"No," I said slowly. "But that’s the problem, I'm not."

His forehead creased. "Of course you are. You may have a scar or two..."

"You're wrong," I insisted. "I'm going to die."

"Really, Beau." He was anxious now. "You'll be out of here in a few days. Two week at most."

I glared at him. "For now. But I’m going to die. I may even get to be old first. Maybe my mind will go before the end—won’t that be fun. But I  _ will _ die. I’ll die and you’ll carry on."

He frowned as what I was saying finally sunk in, pressing his long fingers to his temples and closing his eyes. "That's how it's supposed to happen. How it should happen. How it would have happened if I didn't exist—and I shouldn't exist."

I snorted. He opened his eyes in surprise. "That's so stupid. You do exist. Who the hell are you to say that you shouldn’t? And I found you. If I wasn’t meant to, I wouldn’t have. I won’t let my life be one long goodbye, Edward, and I won’t leave you."

"I'm hardly a prize to have found," he growled.

"You’re the best prize I’m ever going to get."

He rolled his eyes and set his lips. "Beau, we're not having this discussion anymore. I refuse to damn you to an eternity of night and that's the end of it."

"If you think that's the end, you don't know me very well," I warned him. "You're not the only vampire I know."

His eyes went black again. "Alice wouldn't dare."

And for a moment I couldn't help but believe it—couldn’t help but doubt that someone would be brave enough to cross him.

"But Alice already saw it, didn't she?" I guessed. "That's why the things she says upset you. She knows I'm going to be like you... someday."

"She's wrong. She also saw you dead, but that didn't happen, either."

"Only because you pulled off a miracle. You'll never catch  _ me _ betting against Alice."

We stared at each other for a very long time. It was quiet except for the whirring of the machines, the beeping, the dripping, the ticking of the big clock on the wall. Finally, his expression softened.

"So where does that leave us?" I wondered.

He chuckled humorlessly. "I believe it's called an impasse."

I sighed. "Ouch," I muttered.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, eyeing the button for the nurse.

"Peachy," I lied.

"I don't believe you," he said gently.

"I don’t want to sleep."

"You need rest. All this arguing isn't good for you."

"So give in," I urged good-naturedly.

"You don’t know me very well," He threw back at me, and reached for the button.

"You’re a monster," I said, voice full of fake hurt.

He ignored me.

"Yes?" the speaker on the wall squawked.

"I think we're ready for more pain medication," he said calmly, ignoring my furious expression.

"I'll send in the nurse." The voice sounded very bored.

"I’m pretty sure this violates my civil rights," I mused.

He folded his arms, inclining his head and looking up at me from under his eyelashes. "This is for your own good, you know."

My heart rate started to climb. He read the fear in my eyes and sighed in frustration.

"Beau, you're in pain. You need to relax so you can heal. Why are you being so difficult? They're not going to put any more needles in you now."

"It’s not the stupid needles," I mumbled. "I'm afraid to close my eyes."

Then he smiled his crooked smile and took my face between his hands. "I told you I'm not going anywhere. Don't be afraid. As long as it makes you happy, I'll be here."

I smiled back, ignoring the ache in my cheeks. "You're talking about forever, you realize."

"Forever," he repeated, and he almost hid the sadness behind the word.

"It could be, you know. It’s in your power. As it stands, I’ll love you till I die."

"Just that long?” He shook his head slowly, a weary sadness fully tinging his smile. “That's the beautiful thing about being human, Beau," he told me. "Things change."

I looked at him steadily, not backing down, even in the face of his sadness. "Not this, Edward."

He was lost in thought when the nurse came in brandishing a syringe.

"Excuse me," she said brusquely to Edward.

He got up and crossed to the end of the small room, leaning against the wall. He folded his arms and waited. I kept my eyes on him, still apprehensive. He met my gaze calmly.

"Here you go, cutie." The nurse smiled as she injected the medicine into my tube. "You'll feel better now."

"Hurray," I mumbled, unenthusiastic. It didn't take long. I could feel the drowsiness trickling through my bloodstream almost immediately.

"That ought to do it," she muttered as my eyelids drooped.

She must have left the room, because something cold and smooth touched my face.

"Stay. Jerk." The words were slurred.

"I will," he promised, chuckling, the sadness fleeing from his voice. His voice was beautiful, by the way, like a lullaby, or a... like one of those pretty whatchamacallits, you know? "Like I said, as long as it makes you happy... as long as it's what's best for you."

I tried to shake my head, but it was too heavy, full of rocks. "'S not the same thing," I mumbled.

He laughed. "Don't worry about that now, Beau. You can argue with me again when you wake up."

I think I smiled. '"Kay."

I could feel his lips at my ear.

"I love you," he whispered.

"Me, too. But with you."

"I know," he laughed quietly.

I turned my head slightly... searching. He knew what I was after. His lips touched mine gently.

"’S Nice," I sighed.

"Anytime."

I wasn't really there at all anymore. But I fought against the stupor weakly. There was just one more thing I wanted to tell him.

"Edward?" I struggled to pronounce his name clearly.

"Yes?"

"I'm betting on Alice," I mumbled.

And then sleep closed over me.


	26. An Occasion

Edward helped me into his car, being very careful of both of our tuxedo’s, the fresh dewy rose that he’d just pinned to my lapel, and of course my bulky walking cast. He ignored the angry set of my mouth.

When he had me settled, he got in the driver's seat and headed back out the long, narrow drive.

"At what point, exactly, are you going to tell me what's going on?" I asked grumpily. I really hated surprises and he knew that.

"I'm shocked that you haven't figured it out yet." He threw a mocking smile in my direction, which killed me once more. I was beginning to get used to it, though it seemed I’d never get used to him.

"I did mention that you looked quite dashing, didn't I?" I verified.

"Yes." He grinned again. I'd never seen him dress in black before, and, with the contrast against his pale skin, his beauty was absolutely surreal. That much I couldn't deny, even if the fact that he was wearing a tuxedo made me very nervous.

Not quite as nervous as the fact that I wore one as well. Along with my single shoe, in shiny and expensive-looking leather. Only one shoe, as my other foot was still securely encased in plastic and padding, cinched up tight as a corset by nifty velcro tabs. The stiff, though fitted, clothing and new shoe weren’t exactly making it easier to hobble around.

"I'm not coming over anymore if Alice is going to treat me like Guinea Pig Barbie when I do," I griped. I'd spent the better part of the day in Alice's staggeringly vast bathroom, a helpless victim as she played hairdresser and cosmetician. She gave me a manicure. A manicure! I’d drawn the line at a pedicure but was suckered into a facial. Whenever I fidgeted or complained, she reminded me that she didn't have any memories of being human and asked me not to ruin her vicarious fun. Then she'd dressed me in a tux that I couldn’t pull off—deep blue—with classic lines and French tags that I couldn't read—a tux more suitable for James Bond than Beauregard Swan. Nothing good could come of our formal attire, of that I was sure. Unless... but I was afraid to put my suspicions into words, even in my own head. They were ridiculous.

I was distracted by the sound of a phone ringing. Edward pulled his cell phone from a pocket inside his jacket, looking briefly at the caller ID before answering.

"Hello, Charlie," he said warily.

"Dad?" I frowned.

Charlie had been... difficult since my return to Forks. He had compartmentalized my bad experience into two defined reactions. Toward Carlisle he was almost worshipfully grateful. On the other hand, he was stubbornly convinced that Edward was at fault for everything—because, if not for him, I wouldn't have left home in the first place. And Edward was far from disagreeing with him. These days I had rules that hadn't existed before: curfews... visiting hours. It was almost like a normal teenager’s life. Which was novel, at least, if slightly infuriating.

Something Charlie was saying made Edward's eyes widen in disbelief, and then a grin spread across his face.

"You're kidding!" He laughed.

"What is it?" I demanded.

He ignored me. "Why don't you let me talk to her?" Edward suggested with evident pleasure. He waited for a few seconds.

"Hello, Tyler, this is Edward Cullen." His voice was very friendly, on the surface. I knew it well enough to catch the soft edge of menace. What was Tyler doing at my house? The awful truth began to dawn on me. I looked again at the inappropriate tux Alice had forced me into, at the white rose, mocking me.

"I'm sorry if there's been some kind of miscommunication, but Beau is unavailable tonight." Edward's tone changed, and the threat in his voice was suddenly much more evident, though it never stopped being polite, as he continued. "To be perfectly honest, he'll be unavailable every night, as far as anyone besides myself is concerned. No offense. And I'm sorry about your evening." He didn't sound sorry. And then he snapped the phone shut, a huge smirk on his face.

My face and neck flushed crimson with anger. I could feel the anger trying to vent itself through my mouth—never a good idea.

He looked at me in surprise. "Was that last part a bit too much? I didn't mean to offend you."

I ignored that.

"You're taking me to the prom?!" I yelled.

It was embarrassingly obvious now. If I'd been paying any attention at all, I'm sure I would have noticed the date on the posters that decorated the school buildings. But I'd never dreamed he was thinking of subjecting me to this. Didn't he know me at all?

He wasn't expecting the force of my reaction, that was clear. He pressed his lips together and his eyes narrowed. "Don't be difficult, Beau."

My eyes flashed to the window; we were halfway to the school already.

"Oh, but that tone makes me want to  _ treble _ my difficulty level. You’re playing on expert now, bucko. Why are you doing this to me?" I demanded in horror.

He gestured to our tuxedos. "Honestly, Beau, what did you think we were doing?"

I was mortified. First, because I'd missed the obvious. And also because the vague suspicions—expectations, really—that I'd been half forming all day, as Alice tried to transform me into something worthy of the expensive attire, were so wide of the mark. My halfhearted hopes seemed very silly now.

I'd guessed there was some kind of occasion brewing. But prom? That was the furthest thing from my mind.

Angry tears rolled over my cheeks. It was embarrassing as hell and yet I couldn’t seem to make them stop.

"This is completely ridiculous. Why are you crying?" he demanded in frustration.

"Because I'm stupid! Just, never mind.”

"What? Beau!" He turned the full force of his scorching golden eyes on me.

“Present and accounted for," I muttered, looking his way and becoming grudgingly distracted.

“You are very clever. Now please, will you humor me with this?” he insisted.

His eyes were melting all my fury. It was impossible to fight with him when he cheated. He had too much of an advantage. I gave in with poor grace.

"Fine," I pouted, unable to glare as effectively as I would have liked. "I'll go quietly. But when I trip over myself and break my neck on the dance floor, let it be on your conscience!" I held out my bum leg as evidence.

"Hmmm." He glanced at my leg, but then swept his eyes up my body, taking longer than was strictly necessary. "At least you’ll make an exquisite corpse. Remind me to thank Alice tonight."

"Alice is going to be there?" That comforted me slightly.

"With Jasper, and Emmett... and Rosalie," he admitted.

The feeling of comfort flew as soon as it had landed. There had been no progress with Rosalie, though I was on quite good terms with her sometimes-husband. Emmett enjoyed having me around—he thought my bizarre human reactions were hilarious... or maybe it was just the fact that I fell down a lot that he found so funny. Like how toddlers were funny when they were learning to walk. Rosalie acted as if I didn't exist. While I shook my head to dispel the direction my thoughts had taken, I thought of something else.

"Is Dad in on this?" I asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Of course." He grinned, and then chuckled. "Apparently Tyler wasn't, though."

I gritted my teeth. How Tyler could be so delusional, I couldn't imagine. At school, where Dad couldn't interfere, Edward and I were inseparable—except for those rare sunny days.

We were at the school now; Rosalie's red convertible was conspicuous in the parking lot. The clouds were thin today, a few streaks of sunlight escaping through from far away in the west.

He got out and walked around the car to open my door. He held out his hand.

I sat stubbornly in my seat, arms folded, feeling a secret twinge of smugness. The lot was crowded with people in formal dress: witnesses. He couldn't remove me forcibly from the car as he might have if we'd been alone.

He sighed. "When someone wants to kill you, you're brave as a lion—but when someone mentions dancing..." He shook his head.

Dancing. It was like a curse word in my mind. One that even I wouldn’t use.

"Beau, I won't let anything hurt you—not even yourself. I won't let go of you once, I promise."

I thought about that and suddenly felt much better. He could see that in my face.

"There, now," he said gently, "it won't be so bad." He leaned down and wrapped one arm around my waist. I took his other hand and let him lift me from the car.

He kept his arm tightly around me, supporting me as I limped toward the school.

In Phoenix, they held proms in hotel ballrooms. This dance was in the gym, of course. It was probably the only room in town big enough for a dance. When we got inside, I giggled. There were actual balloon arches and twisted garlands of pastel crepe paper festooning the walls.

"This looks like a horror movie waiting to happen," I snickered, impressed by all the wrong things, as always.

"Well," he muttered as we slowly approached the ticket table—he was carrying most of my weight, but I still had to shuffle and wobble my feet forward— "there are more than enough vampires present."

I looked at the dance floor; a wide gap had formed in the center of the floor, where two couples whirled gracefully. The other dancers pressed to the sides of the room to give them space—no one wanted to stand in contrast with such radiance. Emmett and Jasper were intimidating and flawless in classic tuxedos. Alice was striking in a black satin dress with geometric cutouts that bared large triangles of her snowy white skin. And Rosalie was... well, Rosalie. She was beyond belief. Her vivid scarlet dress was backless, tight to her calves where it flared into a wide ruffled train, with a neckline that plunged to her waist. I pitied every girl in the room.

"Do you want me to bolt the doors so you can massacre the unsuspecting townsfolk?" I whispered conspiratorially.

"And where do you fit into that scheme?" He glared playfully.

"Oh, I'm totally with the vampires on this one. Don’t worry, I promise not to go all Buffy on you.”

He smiled. “Anything to get out of dancing."

"Literally anything."

He bought our tickets, then turned me toward the dance floor. I cringed against his arm and dragged my feet.

"I've got all night," he warned.

Eventually he towed me out to where his family was twirling elegantly—if in a style totally unsuitable to the present time and music. I watched in horror.

"Edward." My throat was so dry I could only manage a whisper. "I really can't dance, okay? And I don’t know if I should be leading or following. I don’t even know how to do either of those things." I could feel the panic bubbling up inside my chest.

"Don't worry, little monster," he whispered back. "I do." He put my arms around his neck and lifted me to slide his feet under mine.

And then we were whirling, too.

"I feel like I'm five years old," I laughed after a few minutes of effortless waltzing.

"You don't look five," he murmured, pulling me closer for a second, so that my feet were briefly levitating an inch or so from their perches on his.

Alice caught my eye on a turn and smiled in encouragement—I smiled back. I was surprised to realize that I was actually enjoying myself... a little.

"Okay, this isn't horrible," I admitted.

But Edward was staring toward the doors, and his face was angry.

"What is it?"

I followed his gaze, disoriented by the spinning, but finally I could see what was bothering him. Julz Black, who was in a sleeveless maroon blouse and grey skirt that tried to pass for prom-wear and failed thanks to the beat up converse she’d paired them with, was crossing the floor toward us. Her glossy black hair was slicked back and glowing in the multicolored dance lights. She smiled and waved shyly as she drew nearer.

After the first shock of recognition, I couldn't help but feel bad for Julz. She was clearly uncomfortable—excruciatingly so. Her face was apologetic as her eyes met mine.

Edward snarled very quietly.

"Bad vampire!" I hissed.

Edward's voice was scathing. "She wants to chat with you."

Julz reached us then, the embarrassment and apology even more evident on her face.

"Hey, Beau, I was hoping you would be here." Julz sounded like she'd been hoping the exact opposite. But her smile was just as warm as ever.

"Hi, Julz." I smiled back. "What's up?"

"Can I cut in?" she asked tentatively, glancing at Edward for the first time. I was a bit shocked now that she was closer. She was taller, no doubt. She must have shot up half a foot since the last time I’d seen her. Julz barely had to glance up to shoot Edward a questioning look. She seemed distracted—didn’t seem affected by Edward like most girls were. Like I was.

Edward's face was composed, his expression blank. His only answer was to set me carefully on my feet and take a step back.

"Thanks," Julz said amiably.

Edward just nodded, looking at me intently before he turned to walk away.

Julz rested her arms loosely across my shoulders and I placed my hands awkwardly at her waist. She giggled and looked away.

“Look at us go,” she said sarcastically, and her arms fell to rest more naturally. I smiled, relaxing.

“At least you can reach my shoulders now,” I said, my smile turning up into a grin. “What did you do, overdose on Flinstone vitamins?”

“Oh yeah,” She said, backing off a fraction. “That.” She frowned down at our stationary feet for a bit then her eyes rose, but skimmed over me, staring at something just above my left shoulder. “Probably,” she said with a forced smile that was quick to deflate. “Dunno. Just kinda happened.”

The look on her face made me drop the subject. A song change gave us a welcome distraction.

We attempted something close to dancing—my leg, among other things, made actual dancing impossible. Instead we swayed awkwardly from side to side without moving our feet. It was just as well; she looked about as comfortable with slow dancing as I was, uncoordinated as she was with her new height gain. At least she had an excuse.

"So, how did you end up here tonight?" I asked without any real curiosity. Considering Edward's reaction, I could guess.

"Can you believe my dad paid me twenty bucks to come to your prom?" she admitted, slightly ashamed.

"Yup, sure can," I muttered. "Well, I hope you're enjoying yourself, at least. Seen anything you like?" I teased, nodding toward a group of guys lined up against the wall like penguins waiting to find their mates.

"Yeah," she sighed. "But he's... taken."

She met my curious gaze for just a second—then we both looked away, embarrassed.

Oh. Oh right. I’m an asshole.

"You look really good, by the way," she added shyly.

"Um, thanks.” What could I say? How could I fix this? Why was I so bad at interacting with humans? “So why did Billy pay you to come here?" I asked quickly, though I knew the answer. I’d take any distraction, honestly. 

Julz didn't seem grateful for the subject change; she looked away, uncomfortable again. "He said it was a 'safe' place to talk to you. I swear the old man is losing his mind."

I joined in her laughter weakly.

"Anyway, he said that if I told you something, he would get me that master cylinder I need," she confessed with a sheepish grin.

"Tell me, then. I’m all in if it’s for a good cause." I grinned back. At least Julz didn't believe any of this. It made the situation a bit easier. Against the wall, Edward was watching my face, his own face expressionless. I saw a sophomore in a pink dress eyeing him with timid speculation, but he didn't seem to be aware of her. Poor girl.

Julz looked away again, ashamed. "Don't get mad, okay?"

"There's no way I'll be mad at you, Julz," I assured her. "I won't even be mad at Billy. Just say what you have to and claim your reward."

"Well—this is so stupid, I'm sorry, Beau—he wants you to break up with your boyfriend. He asked me to tell you 'please.'" She shook her head in disbelieving, long suffering, wonderment. “Man that sounded so much worse when I said it aloud. My dad really isn’t... It isn’t even about the gay thing... He’s just...”

"He's still superstitious, eh?"

"Yeah. He was... kind of over the top when you got hurt down in Phoenix. He didn't believe..." She trailed off self-consciously.

I smiled, shrugging. "I fell. I fall a lot."

"I know, I mean,  _ I _ believe," Julz said quickly.

"He thinks Edward had something to do with me getting hurt." It wasn't a question, and despite my promise, I was angry. But Julz didn’t have to know that. I kept it off my face.

She wouldn't meet my eyes. We weren't even bothering to sway to the music, though her hands were still on my shoulders, and mine rested at her waist.

"Look, I know Billy probably won't believe this, but just so  _ you _ know," she looked at me now, responding to the new earnestness in my voice, "Edward really did save my life. If it weren't for Edward and his father, I'd be dead."

"I know," she claimed, but she sounded like my sincere words had affected her some. Maybe she'd be able to convince Billy of this much, at least.

"Hey, I'm sorry you had to come do this, you know?" I apologized. "At any rate, you get your parts, right?"

"Yeah," she muttered. She was still looking awkward... upset.

"There's more?" I asked in disbelief.

"Forget it," she mumbled, "I'll get a job and save the money myself."

I shook my head. "A deal’s a deal. Just spit it out, Julz, like ripping off a bandaid."

"It's so bad."

"I don't care. Tell me," I insisted.

"Okay... but, holy crap does this sound bad." She shook her head. "He said to tell you, no, to warn you, that—and this is his plural, not mine—" she lifted one hand from my shoulder and made little quotations marks in the air— '"We'll be watching.'" Then she watched warily for my reaction.

It sounded like something from a mafia movie. I laughed out loud.

"Sorry you had to do this, Julz," I snickered.

"I mean, I don't mind  _ that _ much." She grinned in relief. Her eyes were appraising as they raked quickly over my tux. "So, should I tell him you said to butt the hell out?" she asked hopefully.

"No," I sighed. "Tell him I said thanks. I know he means well."

The song ended, and I dropped my arms.

Her hands hesitated on my shoulders, and she glanced at my bum leg. "Do you want to dance again? Or can I help you get somewhere?"

Edward answered for me. "That's all right, Julz. I'll take it from here."

Julz flinched, and stared wide-eyed at Edward, who stood just beside us.

"Weird, I didn't see you there," she mumbled. "Guess I'll see you around, then, Beau." She stepped back, waving halfheartedly.

I smiled. "Yeah, I'll see you later."

"Sorry," she said again before she turned for the door.

Edward's arms wound around me as the next song started. It was a little up-tempo for slow dancing, but that didn't seem to concern him. I lay my head on his shoulder, content.

"Feeling better?" I teased.

"Not really," he said tersely.

"Don't be mad at Billy," I sighed. "He just worries about me for Dad's sake. It's nothing personal."

"I'm not mad at Billy," he corrected in a clipped voice. "But his daughter is irritating me."

I pulled back to look at him. His face was very serious.

"Why?"

"First of all, she made me break my promise."

I stared at him in confusion for a moment, then laughed, remembering.

He half-smiled with me. "I promised I wouldn't let go of you tonight."

"I’ll just have to find it in my heart to forgive you."

"Thanks. But there's something else." Edward frowned.

I waited patiently.

"She said that you looked good," he finally continued, his frown deepening. "That's practically an insult, the way you look right now. You're far past perfection."

I laughed. "You might be a little biased."

"I don't think that's all of it. Besides, I have excellent eyesight."

We were twirling again, my feet on his as he held me close.

"So are you going to explain the reason for all of this?" I wondered.

He looked down at me, confused, and I glared meaningfully at the crepe paper.

He considered for a moment, and then changed direction, spinning me through the crowd to the back door of the gym. I caught a glimpse of Jessica and Mike dancing, staring at me curiously. Jessica waved, and I smiled back quickly. Angela was there, too, looking blissfully happy in the arms of little Ben Cheney; she didn't look up from his eyes, a head lower than hers. Lee and Samantha; Logan, glaring toward us, with Chelsea; I could name every face that spiraled past me. And then we were outdoors, in the cool, dim light of a fading sunset.

As soon as we were alone, he swung me up into his arms, and carried me across the dark grounds till he reached the bench beneath the shadow of the madrone trees. He sat there, keeping me cradled against his chest. The moon was already up, visible through the gauzy clouds, and his face glowed pale in the white light. His mouth was hard, his eyes troubled.

"The point?" I prompted softly.

He ignored me, staring up at the moon.

"Twilight, again," he murmured. "Another ending. No matter how perfect the day is, it always has to end."

"Some things don't  _ have _ to end," I muttered through my teeth, instantly tense.

He sighed.

"I brought you to the prom," he said slowly, finally answering my question, "because I don't want you to miss anything. I don't want my presence to take anything away from you, if I can help it. I want you to be human. I want your life to continue as it would have if I'd died in nineteen-eighteen like I should have."

I swallowed hard at his words, and then shook my head angrily. "In what crazy parallel dimension would I ever have gone to prom of my own free will? If you weren't a thousand times stronger than me, I would never have let you get away with this."

He smiled briefly, but it didn't touch his eyes. "It wasn't so bad, you said so yourself."

"Because I was with you, idiot."

We were quiet for a minute; he stared at the moon and I stared at him. I wished there was some way to explain how very uninterested I was in a normal human life.

"Will you tell me something?" he asked, glancing down at me with a slight smile.

"Probably."

"Just promise you'll tell me," he insisted, grinning.

I knew I was going to regret this almost instantly. "Fine."

"You seemed honestly surprised when you figured out that I was taking you here," he began.

"I was," I interjected.

"Exactly," he agreed. "But you must have had some other theory... I'm curious—what did you think I was dressing you up for?"

Yes, there it was, instant regret. I flattened my lips, hesitating. "I don't want to tell you."

"But you will, because you promised," he objected.

"I know."

"What's the problem?"

I knew he thought it was mere embarrassment holding me back. "I think it will make you mad—or sad. And you’ll definitely mock me."

His brows pulled together over his eyes as he thought that through. "I mock you all the time in any event. I still want to know. Please?"

I sighed. He waited.

"Well... I assumed it was some kind of... occasion. But I didn't think it would be some trite human thing... prom?" I scoffed.

"Human?" he asked flatly. He'd picked up on the key word.

I looked down at my designer tuxedo, fidgeting with the crisp lapel. He waited in silence.

"Okay," I confessed in a rush. "So I was hoping that you might have changed your mind... that you were going to change me, after all."

A dozen emotions played across his face. Some I recognized: anger... pain... and then he seemed to collect himself and his expression became amused.

"You thought that would be a black tie occasion, did you?" he teased, tweaking my bowtie.

I scowled to hide my embarrassment. "I read a lot of Anne Rice as a young lad, okay? I don't know how these things work. To me, at least, it seemed more rational than prom would have." He was still grinning. "And it's not funny," I said.

"No, you're right, it's not," he agreed, his smile fading. "I'd rather treat it like a joke, though, than believe you're serious."

“Well, laugh on then. But I am serious."

He sighed deeply. "I know. And you're really that willing?"

The pain was back in his eyes. I looked at him steadily and nodded.

"So ready for this to be the end," he murmured, almost to himself, "for this to be the twilight of your life, though your life has barely started. You're ready to give up everything."

"It's not the end, it's the beginning of a new song," I disagreed under my breath. “I can’t bear the ending now.”

"I'm not worth it," he said sadly.

"Do you remember when you told me that I didn't see myself very clearly?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "You too."

"I know what I am."

I sighed. “So do I. I know exactly what you are, Edward.” And I smiled at him softly, taking in his intent, brooding face. I brushed the slight creases from his brow. “You’re my monster,” I whispered.

And at that his mercurial mood shifted. He took up my hand and lowered it, pursing his lips, his eyes probing, searching mine. He examined me for a long moment.

"You're ready now, then?" he asked.

"Yes,” I said, easily. “Though this is hardly the ideal location for me to be screaming in pain.”

He smiled and inclined his head slowly until his cold lips brushed against the skin just under the corner of my jaw.

"Right now?" he whispered, his breath blowing cool on my neck. I shivered involuntarily.

"Yes," I whispered fervently, forgetting the gym full of my peers. If he thought I was bluffing, he was going to be disappointed. I'd already made this decision, and I was sure.

He chuckled darkly and leaned away. His face did look disappointed.

"You can't really believe that I would give in so easily," he said with a sour edge to his mocking tone.

"Well,” I sighed, “a fellow can dream."

His eyebrows rose. "Is that what you dream about? Being a monster?"

"I don’t have to dream about that, I live it," I said, smiling sweetly. "No. I dream about being with you. Just that. Would it be so bad to have that forever? Am I so wrong?"

His expression changed, softened and saddened by the subtle ache in my voice.

"Beau." His fingers lightly traced the shape of my lips. "I will stay with you—isn't that enough?"

I smiled under his fingertips. "For now. It’s enough for now."

He frowned at my tenacity. No one was going to surrender tonight. He exhaled, and the sound was practically a growl.

I touched his face. "Look," I said. "I love you more than everything else in the world combined. Isn't that enough?"

"Yes, it is enough," he answered, smiling. "Enough to last me forever."

And he leaned down to press his cold lips once more to my throat.


End file.
